Buried with the Bones
by Lesera128
Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow... can they cheat death and get a second chance? Very AU. Complete.
1. Ch 1: Exhuming the Bones

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

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><p>Chapter 1 – Exhuming the Bones<p>

* * *

><p><span>AUGUST 2004<span>

"So, the eight ball that I just sunk in that left center pocket says you owe me a hundred bucks," a younger man, with light brown hair, dark brown eyes, and standing at about 6'4'' said to the man leaning against a bar stool in front of him.

Nodding at the cash on the edge of the pool table, Special Agent Seeley Booth nodded and said, "Take it. It's yours."

The younger man nodded in response. He turned back to the pool table and pocketed the cash. Coming up to Booth he extended a hand and said, "You play well."

Taking the hand, Booth gave it a quick shake as he said, "Not well enough tonight, though."

Shrugging, the young man said, "Yeah, well… you know, man. We all have our off days."

Turning to the bar, Booth signaled the bartender for a new draft beer. Sighing Booth said, "Yeah, it seems as if I've had more than my fair share of the off ones lately."

The young man considered him for a minute, glanced at his watch, and said, "Listen, man. I'd offer you double or nothing, but my girlfriend's gonna be pissed if I get home late tonight. Rain check for later in the week?"

Smiling, Booth said, "Definitely."

"Okay," the young man said. "I'll hold you to that." He stopped, looked at the clock and then said, "You know… it's kinda late. And, you were here even before I got here this afternoon. I hope you don't think I'm sticking my nose into other people's business when I say this, but maybe you should head home, too?"

"Why?" Booth asked curiously.

Shrugging, the young man said, "I dunno. Don't you have someone waiting for you? A girl or something?"

Shaking his head, Booth said, "Naaw, man. I mean, I've got my kid. But, I only see him on the weekends."

Frowning, the young man said, "Wow. That's sucks."

"Oh, I don't know," Booth said. "It doesn't seem that bad. Most days anyway."

Nodding, the youth turned to leave. As he walked out of the bar, a familiar face entered at almost the exact same time. He had a serious stare on his face as he walked up to Booth.

"You ready to go home, buttercup?"

"Keep calling me buttercup, and you're gonna find out things about me that you really don't want to, Sully," Booth said with a smirk.

Booth turned around and grabbed the beer that the bartender had deposited. Sully clucked at him in protest.

"Drinking on the clock. How far you've fallen, Booth," Sully chided him,

Arching an eyebrow over the beer mug, Booth said, "Ha ha. Funny joke. But, we both know that I've been off the clock for six hours and plan on keeping it that way for at least another six."

Shaking his head, Sully said, "Then consider yourself a failure as of about ten minutes ago."

Sighing, Booth said, "Please don't tell me that Caroline—"

"Got a third judge to sign the exhumation order?" Sully completed his sentence.

Booth nodded.

"Oh, in that case, I won't tell you that yes, Caroline got a third judge to sign the exhumation order. I also won't tell you that I was given strict instructions to 'Get Booth's butt to Glenwood Cemetery in thirty minutes or *both* of you are going to have to deal with me, cher.' And, as you know, Booth, I make a it a policy never to have to deal with Caroline… so finish the beer, and let's vamoose. I'll drive," Sully said.

Sighing a heavy sigh, Booth quickly finished the beer. He tossed a few bills on the bar, at which Sully chuckled lightly. "So, you actually managed to have more than a couple nickels to rub together by the time we're leaving tonight?"

"Har har har, Sul, very funny," Booth said. "You know, no one asked you to come down here and babysit me. I'm a big boy. I can look out for myself."

"A.) I know that. I also know that I can't get you to stop if you don't want to… but, I can watch the ball games just as easily here as at home. So, yeah, you didn't ask, but you don't have to ask because I'm your partner, and that's what partners do for each other, Booth. I know you've never really gotten that whole concept before… you know 'partner'… but that's what they do. B.) You're right… mostly. You are a big… baby," Sully taunted.

Moving quickly towards the bar's front exit, lest Booth decide to follow up his scowl with a jab to Sully's shoulder, as he had been known to do, Sully's abrupt exit gave Booth little choice but to follow. With one longing stare at the vacated pool table, Booth reached into his pocket, pulled out his lucky poker chip, tossed it once in the air, and then followed his partner outside.

* * *

><p>Despite the fact that it was 10:30pm at night, a figure cloaked in the shadows watched as a hive of activity swarmed around a very, very familiar cemetery plot. Large portable spot lights had been rigged are the grave to illuminate the site in unnatural brightness as a small back hoe began to move dirt.<p>

Glancing at his watch, the man narrowed his eyes as he watched two new figures approach the gravesite and were met by a very belligerent looking female. If there was one thing this man knew, it was the cut of who a person was. He would bet a thousand dollars that the two men were law enforcement, while the women… the woman had to be judicial in some way. She was too old to be a judge's aid or a legal clerk. No, she had to be from the Justice Department office. A federal prosecutor maybe? Yes, that seemed to be right.

As he continued to observe what was going on, hidden safely from view by the dark, he wondered why this was happening now… why now? It was six years too late. She had been dead for six years, and only now they were taking her murder seriously? She deserved better than that, but, then again, she always had. He only hoped they had a serious reason for finally disturbing her sleep... a *real* reason. And, well, if they didn't… well, he would have to *finally* take matters into his own hands… if he could only figure out *how* to go about doing that at long last.

* * *

><p>"And, why are we here again digging up a dead body in the middle of the night?" Booth asked.<p>

Caroline Julian looked at him and frowned. "I've had two judges sign my exhumation order for two different reasons only to see some vulture of a pro bono lawyer appeal it on behalf of her Foundation. Twice, the federal judge has upheld the appeal. Judge Walters is the last one I know who will give me one last go at this…. So, we have to get her up and out of there before that slimy scum bag has a chance to appeal the order for a third time. Ergo, since Judge Walters signed the order at 9:58pm, our presence at 10:30pm was required, Booth, so quite complaining."

"I don't even know why I'm here," Booth said. "Dead bodies are Sully's thing, not mine."

"Yeah, well, cher, Sully may be the liaison to the Medico-Legal Lab at the Jeffersonian Institute, but you're Sully's partner. That means where he goes, you go."

"Oh, joy," Booth said in a deadpan tone.

Caroline scowled at him as she pointed her finger at him and said, "Do not try my patience any more, Booth. I have had about all I can take today, so I am giving you fair warning."

Smiling a cheeky grin at her, Booth said, "Oh, come on, Caroline. It can't be all bad. I'm mean… you get to be here… with me, right?"

"Yeah, well, you are cute when you aren't brooding, but even still, cut the lip, cher," Caroline said.

"Hey Caroline!" Sully's voice came from the head of the grave plot. "I think we've found her."

Caroline nodded. "About time." She then nodded at Booth and said, "Come on, Booth. Go help your partner."

"What do you want me to do?" Booth asked, as the pair carefully walked to where Sully was kneeling in front of the grave's headstone. "Like you said, Sully handles this stuff with the Jeffersonian. Not me. Dead bodies aren't my thing. They never have been."

At this, Sully heard Booth's comment and said, "Technically, since she's been dead for over six years, she may not be a dead body anymore. Probably not skeletonized, but there's no way to know what's left—"

"Oh, please don't tell me you're going to open it here," Booth said, grimacing.

Sully chuckled. "Hell, no. Cam and Ian would have my ass in a sling if I 'compromised their remains'. All of it will be going back to the Jeffersonian."

Looking at the tombstone, Booth nodded at Sully. "So, who was she again?"

"Oh, you know… it's kind of a really tragic story," Sully said.

Glancing at the inscription Booth said, "She was really young, wasn't she?"

"Yup," Sully confirmed. "Just twenty-three. Had just gotten her PhD and had only been at the Jeffersonian for about six months when she was shot," Sully said.

"*Allegedly* shot," Caroline chimed in at Sully's comment. "Remember, we need the good Dr. Saroyan to confirm that she actually died like the medical examiner claimed in the autopsy report or not. Otherwise, I'm back at square one with the case."

"And, what case is that?" Booth asked, his curiosity piqued.

Waving her hand dismissively, Caroline said, "Long, long story, cherie. Sully can fill you in if you're interested later."

Shrugging, Booth stood back as Sully conversed with two field techs about lifting the unearthed coffin out of the ground. As his partner continued discussing the plans, Booth glanced at the tombstone's inscription once more, and for some reason, felt a shiver run up his spine as he read the inscription:

In Loving Memory

Dr. Temperance Brennan

Beloved Daughter and Sister

1975-1998

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><p>-TBC-<p> 


	2. Ch 2: The Bones that Nauseate

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 2 – The Bones that Nauseate<p>

* * *

><p>"You know, I was just joking before, but now I really mean it. When did you turn into such a big baby?" Sully asked, staring at Booth, his arms crossed as he stood facing his partner through the open doors of the Jeffersonian's Medico-Legal Lab.<p>

"First, I'm not a baby," Booth countered. "Second, I told you. Dead bodies are your thing. They're not mine, never have been."

"You've worked Major Crimes for almost three years in the nation's capital. Since when do you have a problem with dead bodies?" Sully asked in amazement.

"Remains," Booth corrected. "A crime scene and remains? Fine. Remains I have no problems with… but, remains are quickly processed, and I get to go about my business once they go buh-bye. Then, I like getting a nice neat evidence report from the lab techs. That means I get to see the remains once in context, and then everything else is nicely converted into two-dimensional pictures and text. So, in a nutshell, Sul, I don't like the idea of any place that actually keeps remains around long enough for them to revert to dead bodies *and* gets off on the fact they do, okay?"

"Seeley, are you being a big baby again about the whole dead bodies thing?" a voice asked, as a woman wearing a blue labcoat said as she walked to stand behind Sully.

"Don't call me 'Seeley', Camille. And, yes, you know the whole squinting at dead bodies thing creeps me out."

Cam turned to Sully and nodded. "Yup, still a big baby."

Turning back to Booth, Cam nodded, "Well, if you're going to insist on standing outside the lab doors, at least we can get you a uniform, and you can make yourself useful. I'd have to double check, but I'm still pretty certain that the Jeffersonian is hiring extra security guards. With your background and training and desire not to enter the lab, it should be a piece of cake getting you hired. And, don't call me 'Camille', Booth," Cam corrected.

Booth scowled at her teasing words.

For his part, frustrated, Sully took a step forward and raised his eyes in a silent plea to his partner. "Booth, will you please get your ass in here so we can get the files, get what I need for Caroline, and maybe make it back to the Hoover sometime in the next eight hours?" Sully sighed.

Arching an eyebrow at Sully, Booth said, "Wow, cranky much?"

"You try having Caroline Julian breathing down your neck about this high profile a case, while only sleeping about four hours in the last forty, and we'll see how well your cranky quotient is, Booth," Sully nodded.

Sighing, Booth said, "If I come in there, where are the dead bodies going to be?"

Cam laughed. "You know, if I called certain members of a certain ex-Army Ranger unit and conveyed to them the fact that their Sarge has developed a phobia of human remains…."

Scowling, Booth said, "Camille, can you just answer the damn question?"

Jerking her thumb back over her shoulder, Cam said, "Usually preliminary examination of the remains happens on the main platform. Autopsy gets done in my suite to the right there, but since it's tucked away, you don't have to worry about offending your delicate sensibilities there—"

"Camille-" Booth grunted.

"—And, Ian's home away from home is the bone room to the left. That's where he's now working on the Brennan case," Cam said.

"So…?" Booth asked.

"Platform's clear, but for your empty coffin from last night. My autopsy suite has a new candidate from the Jansen case, Sully, but Ian's workroom is the only one you might have to go into and see 'dead bodies', Booth," Cam said.

At her words, tentatively, Booth took a step forward. Sully turned with another sigh and began to walk further into the lab. However, Cam remained looking at Booth. Her slightly mocking smile grew wider as the lab doors slide shut behind him. "Very, very good. See, what a big boy you are, Booth?"

"Shove it, Cam," Booth said, crossing his arms. He then nodded at her and said, "So, where to?"

"Come on," Cam said, turning to follow Sully, who was already headed towards the bones room. Cam quickly caught up, and she fell into step beside Sully.

As they walked, Booth trotting behind them at a hesitant pace, Sully said to Cam, "So, what's the word so far?"

"Not good," Cam said. "The seal on the coffin was broken at some point in the last six years. We can't quite explain that one, as a coffin of that quality should have been sound for at least twenty or twenty-five years."

"Could it have been purposely tampered with at some point?" Sully inquired.

Cam nodded. "It's possible. We've got one of our particulate experts looking at the wood and metal decomp to see what's going on. As for the remains, water had seeped in and decomposition was at a very advanced state. There wasn't a lot of soft tissue left for me to work with… Ian, however, is beside himself with glee. The lack of tissue meant we could get on with cleaning the bones a lot more quickly than Ian is used to… he's beginning the preliminary examination now."

Following the pair, Booth tried not to look around too much. The entire place gave him the heebie jeebies, although he would never willing concede as much to either Sully or Cam on the sheer point of pride alone.

As they approached the bones suite, Cam turned to Booth and said, "Fair warning, Seeley. Here be bones if you don't think you can handle it."

"Shut up, Camille," Booth said. "I can handle a teeny tiny skeleton. It's the clowns that really bother me… as you well know."

Smiling, she nodded. Booth entered the room behind her and found that Sully was already talking to a tall British-sounding man. Flipping through a file folder, Sully was barely glancing at the bones that lay arranged on the examination table. Booth, however, couldn't take his eyes away from them. He felt the same ice cold shiver that had run down his spine last night at the cemetery when he had read the epitaph on the headstone return with a overwhelming and incapacitating force. His eyes were riveted in one particular spot – on the skull. Suddenly feeling dizzy, Booth felt the nausea rise in him as he felt bile at the back of his throat. Cam noticed before Booth did himself that he was actually beginning to slightly slump and had turned an alarming shade of grey as he paled.

Coming up on his side, Cam held out her arm to steady him as she said, "Whoa, there, Booth. You don't look so good. You okay?"

Trying to shake the dizziness away from him again, and realizing that he was only making things worse, Booth said, "I-I, ah… I don't think that this was such a good idea. I… I think I'm going to be sick."

Moving to barrel out of the room as quickly as he had entered it, Cam followed Booth outside as she steered him in direction of a nearby garbage can. Sully and Ian winced slightly as they heard the unpleasant sounds of dry heaves followed by an intense round of retching reach their ears.

The man with whom Sully had been speaking, suddenly looked at him and said, "It must be very tedious taking him to crime scenes if he's always throwing up at the mere sight of a simple skeleton like this. You never told me your partner was this squeamish."

Concern evident on his face, Sully shook his head and said, "Seeley Booth served as a sniper in the Army Rangers for almost twelve years, Ian. That guy has taken out more people than I can even guess at… and, so… if there is one thing that I would never, *never* use as a word to describe Booth as, well, it's 'squeamish'."

"Hmmm," Ian considered for a moment. He then nodded and said, "Perhaps his breakfast didn't agree with him then?"

"Yeah, maybe," Sully said.

"In either case," Ian said, "It's now quite clear why the relationship between he and Camille never worked out. A woman like that needs a man who can appreciate the complexity and fascination of remains."

At this, Sully lifted his head and smiled. "You mean a guy like yourself, Ian?"

Smiling with a nod, he replied, "Precisely, my good man. Precisely."

* * *

><p>A while later, Booth sat on a leather couch in what Cam said was Ian's office because her work space still had too many things that might set off Booth's vomiting again. Holding a bottle of water in one hand, and a wet face cloth in the other, Booth sat back against the couch and stared at the ceiling.<p>

Sighing, he said, "Man, I can't believe I did that. I haven't puked like that since basic training."

Cam shrugged. "You must have gotten a hold of something bad to eat, Booth. What did you have to eat for breakfast this morning?"

Booth looked at her and said, "A glass of orange juice."

"That's it?" Cam questioned him incredulously.

"Yeah," Booth said. "That was it."

"Hmmm," Cam said. "Well, that certainly explains the citrus scent and orange tint to your vomit."

"Now is not the time to be cracking jokes, okay, Cam?" Booth said. "It's bad enough already. I'm going to have to deal with a serious amount of bullshit when Sully tells the rest of the Major Crimes Division that I tossed my cookies at the simple sight of a mere skeleton like I was..."

"Don't worry, Booth. I won't rat you out unless you really, really piss me off about something," Sully said, coming into the office followed by Ian.

Nodding at him, Cam said, "Booth, I don't think you've actually had the formal introductions with Ian yet. Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI, meet the Jeffersonian's chief forensic anthropologist, Dr. Ian Wexler."

Booth nodded at him and gestured to the bottle of water and face cloth as he said, "I hope you won't take offense if I don't shake your hand right at the moment. I'm kind of waiting for the world to stop spinning."

"Not at all, not at all," Wexler said with a smile. "I'm just pleased to be able to finally meet you. Timothy and Camille have spoken so much about you over the years, I feel like I know you already. I'm just sorry that we haven't had the opportunity to meet prior to this instance."

"Yeah, well, I tend to avoid squints whenever I can since I've never met one that I've ever actually liked," Booth said. He then winced as he realized what he had said, how it could be perceived as offensive, and smiled as Booth amended, "No offense intended, of course."

Smiling, Wexler said, "None taken."

"So, you're… English?" Booth asked.

"Indeed," Wexler said. "Although for the past six years, I've had the lovely opportunity of being rescued from the dreary confines of the bowels at Oxford University to reside in the sunny capital of the most charming set of colonies I think the Crown ever had the misfortune to let slip away from their sticky, sticky fingers."

Booth looked to Cam for clarification. Cam chuckled as she said, "Translation: he's lived here in DC since the Jeffersonian offered him a job six years ago when they stole him from Oxford, and he loves it."

"Ahh, yes," Wexler said, with a smile. "What she said, I think."

"Ummm, guys, not to put a kibosh on this impromptu gabfest, but can we talk about the Brennan case for a minute? I'm supposed to meet with Caroline in an hour, and I still don't have an answer for her to the question she's going to ask me within five seconds of her having seen me," Sully said.

"Which is?" Wexler asked.

"Can either one of you tell me how Temperance Brennan actually died?" Sully asked.

Shaking his head, Wexler said, "We're still conducting the examination and waiting for a report from our particulates expert. Camille, dear, have any of your toxicology reports come back?"

Cam shook her head as she said, "No. Not yet."

"Damn—" Sully said, snapping the file folder shut.

"Hey, Sul, can I see that for a minute?" Booth said, nodding at the file folder.

Shrugging, Sully wordlessly passed over the file folder. Booth put the bottle of water on the end table next to the couch as he reached for the file folder and opened it. At the very top of the report was a paper-clipped stack of photos. A somber looking young woman with reddish-brown hair and piercingly blue eyes stared back at him. Booth unhooked the photo and took it out. Narrowing his eyes, he was mesmerized by the face as she said, "Was this her?"

Sully glanced over and then nodded. "Yeah, that was her. Dr. Temperance Brennan. About 22… c. late 1997/early 1998."

Unable to tear his gaze away from the photo, Booth murmured, "God, she was beautiful."

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	3. Ch 3: Learning from the Bones

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 3 – Learning from the Bones<p>

* * *

><p>"Why are you sitting at my desk?" Sully asked, mildly annoyed to find his chair occupied, as he entered the office he shared with Booth.<p>

Booth looked up from the stack of file folders he was going through and shrugged. "Your desk chair has better back support than mine does."

"That's because I put out the extra money myself to get an awesome chair with proper lumbar support, as compared to you, the cheap SOB that we know you all to be who has relied on that standard piece of crap the Bureau expects us to be thankful for," Sully said.

"Oh, yeah, well that explains why your chair feels so much better than mine," Booth said, slightly distracted.

"Am I the only one who finds it amusing that the guy with a back problem took the standard FBI-issue chair without protest?" Sully asked.

"Nope," Booth said. "I'm amusing to lots of people."

"And, remind me again why it's amusing that your lazy ass is now enjoying my chair instead of me?" Sully questioned.

"It's not amusing," Booth conceded. "But, you do have to deal with it because I am superior to you in one really important way."

"And what's that?" Sully questioned.

"Seniority," Booth smirked.

Moving to Booth's desk, Sully plopped down in his partner's chair as he said, "God, this is such a piece of crap."

Nodding, Booth said, "Yeah. Told ya that."

"Yeah, and I knew that… I think I had just forgotten," Sully grimaced. He was quiet for a minute as his eyes glanced at the open file folder that was sitting on top of the stack that sat in front of Booth. "You still going through those?"

Rubbing his eyes, Booth nodded. "Yeah."

"Man, you were looking over those almost all day yesterday. How long have you been staring at them since I last saw you?" Sully asked.

Booth looked at his watch and then said, "Well, considering the fact that I saw you yesterday when you left about… what? Five? Five-thirty?"

Sully shrugged. "Something like that."

"Well, it's what now… 11:30am?" Booth asked.

"Yeah," Sully responded.

"So… I guess… it's been something like… what, eighteen hours I guess?" Booth said.

His eyes widening, Sully leaned forward a bit in the chair, as he said, "Have you been here all night going through this stuff?"

"Yeah," Booth admitted. "I-I, ah… I sorta just lost track of time."

"How?" Sully questioned in disbelief.

"I just started going through these files on the Brennan case, and once I started reading, I sort of… couldn't stop," Booth admitted.

"You've been reading case files for eighteen hours straight… with no sleep?" Sully asked. "Why?"

"I don't know," Booth said. "I just started going through the background on Brennan… and, the more I read, the more questions I had, and I just… kept reading."

"Which parts?" Sully inquired.

"Well, all of them," Booth told him. "Some of it… some of her writings? Her articles… they were very… technical. I didn't understand a lot of what she was writing about… it's a lot of stuff about bones and how to read bones. I… God, just from her writing I can tell she how smart she was. I mean, scary smart, Sully. The way she talks about bones… even through all of the technical B-S? It's just… she was brilliant."

"And, you've read everything?" Sully said.

"Yeah," Booth said. "Like I said, I just couldn't stop. I mean, she's… fascinating. The more I learn about her, the more questions I have… and I sorta just lost track of time."

Leaning forward, Sully picked up one of the photos that was on top of a stack that sat in front of Booth on the desk. He glanced at it again, and then nodded as he said, "You know, I think I've been through this set of case files about a half dozen times since Caroline turned it over to me a couple of months ago. I've seen this one photo many, many more times than that. But, I don't think I've ever stopped to just look at her."

"She was a beautiful woman," Booth said. "I mean, young, yeah, but… look at those eyes."

Sully considered his partner's tone of voice and was surprised at the tone he thought he heard creeping into Booth's voice as he spoke. Nodding at the photo, Sully decided to test his theory. "Yeah, I mean, she's cute… in a squinty kind of way."

"She was only a squint for six months, technically," Booth protested.

"Even still, once a squint, always a squint," Sully reminded his partner.

Smiling at him with a nod, Booth said, "You aren't going to admit it, are you?"

"What?" Sully said.

"She was hot, Sully. She was hot… no, not just hot. But, *smokin'* hot, and you don't want to admit it," Booth said with a grin.

Sighing, Sully tossed the picture back onto the pile of photos and said, "Okay, she was a good looking woman. But, aside from the fact that personalizing a case like this is the exact last thing I want to do, she was *still* a squint, Booth. All brain, nothing else. And, you know how I feel about cold fish."

"Temperance Brennan was many things, but she wasn't a cold fish, Sul," Booth said adamantly.

"Oh, really?" Sully replied with a laugh. "And, how do you know that?"

Booth shrugged. "I don't know. It's just a feeling I have. I just know, okay?"

"Based on a few photographs and a few journal articles?" Sully said.

"I… I can't explain it. But, when I look at this woman in the photos… and read the words she wrote, I… I just feel like it's not that far off the mark when I say she wasn't a cold fish," Booth said.

"So, does this mean you want to help me with the case?" Sully asked hopefully.

"Yeah," Booth responded. "I will as long as there aren't any more dead bodies and puking episodes involved."

"Well," Sully said. "I do need some help doing some background interviews on some of the people who last saw her alive. Confirm the original witness statements, maybe?"

"I could do that," Booth said. "Do you have a list?"

"A partial one," Sully admitted. He paused, thought for a moment and then said, "Caroline gave me a starting point to start double checking the most likely people who might be able to give us something that the original investigation overlooked. But, seeing as how you've spent all this time getting to know the good Dr. Brennan, maybe it would be better to see what type of list you can come up with… see if that instinct of yours about the bones-lady tells you anything else."

"I can do that," Booth agreed.

"And, maybe…" Sully began, but he stopped and allowed his voice to trail off.

"What?" Booth said, noticing Sully's sudden silence.

"Well, I'm just thinking," Sully said. "When she was murdered, it upset a lot of people at the Jeffersonian. Brennan was supposed to be the next Charles Darwin or Lewis Binford of forensic anthropology. So, there was a certain amount of… disappointment... and loss felt by people, both at the Institute and at her former university, over the violence of her death. The Jeffersonian agreed to commemorate her brief tenure in her job by endowing a trust that was set up in her memory. Some of her professors formed that non-profit foundation Caroline mentioned to administer the trust… scholarships and grants to starving squints, you know? They also hoped at some point that Brennan's personal papers and some of her belongings might be beneficial to future squints wanting to pick up the research trail where she was forced off, so after her death, what wasn't put in FBI lock up was put into storage."

"Why do we have jurisdiction over the case again?" Booth asked. "That was one thing that wasn't really clear in the case file."

"Her body was found at the Jeffersonian in her office," Sully replied. "Although it was never proven, one of the original investigators that I talked to always believed that while her body had been dumped here, she wasn't actually murdered here. However, the details of the case being what they were, with her being such a high profile murder, the Jeffersonian sort of wanted to either obtain justice quickly… or quickly forget about the murder and begin their commemorative acts," Sully said. "In either case, the original lead investigator identified the Jeffersonian as the site of the original murder. Since it's technically federal property, the Jeffersonian booted it to us."

"So, half of her stuff is in the FBI evidence graveyard at Quantico, and the other half is….?" Booth left his question unfinished.

"In storage at the Dr. Temperance Brennan Foundation for the Advancement of Forensic Anthropology at Northwestern University. It was her alma mater," Sully said.

"I remember," Booth said. He stopped, quirked his head in Sully's direction and a smile suddenly light up his face as he said, "So, does this mean we're going to Chicago?"

Shaking his head, Sully said, "No, we're not—"

Booth's face fell at this response.

"But, you are," Sully said, watching his friend's grin return. "Listen, if I leave DC now, Caroline will flay me. New Orleans-style. And, seeing as how I have no desire to see her demonstrate that particular skill set, you're going to have to tackle that one yourself."

"Okay," Booth said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "I've always loved Chicago. Great, *great* city."

Chuckling, Sully said, "I wouldn't book the finest coach class ticket that the FBI can expense you just yet. First, you need to head out to the storage locker at the FBI Lab, and go through what's there. I've been there once with Caroline… and, don't say I didn't warn you because it's… extensive."

"And, what type of squint stuff will I be looking at?" Booth inquired.

Shrugging, Sully said, "I'm not 100% certain. I know there's a lot of her personal papers, notes, artifacts she collected… stuff like that. But, I also know there's a ton of it, so who's to say what is in all those boxes. There's over 150 of them."

"150 boxes of squint stuff?" Booth asked incredulously.

Sully nodded. "Yup. Like I said, don't say I didn't warn you."

"Okay," Booth said. "Fair enough." He paused for a moment before continuing, "So, I go through the squint storage items, start making my list. Maybe start some follow up interviews on people who are still in DC, and then see how many are in Chicago, and work from there?"

Sully considered Booth's proposal for a minute before he said, "Sure. That sounds like a plan."

Booth glanced down at the photo and then back to his partner. "Hey, Sul?"

"Yeah, Booth?"

"The squints that you work with now… did they ever meet Brennan?" Booth asked.

Sully was quiet before he replied, "I think Cam met her once or twice over the years, but you'd have to ask her to be certain. Ian knew of her, but no, I don't think they were acquainted since he was, in effect, her replacement. There might be some other scientists or techs that are still there that knew her that I just don't know about, but I don't know for certain."

"Ahh," Booth replied. Looking at this watch, Booth said, "So, you want to go grab some lunch at the diner? I kinda want to get a bite before I head out to Quantico."

"Ah uh," Sully said, pointing his finger at Booth.

Arching his eyebrow, Booth responded, "What? Diner no good? Would you rather go to the Founding Fathers?"

"The diner's fine," Sully said. "But, after we eat, you're going home to get some sleep."

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Sully, don't start that," Booth protested.

"You haven't slept in over twenty-four hours, Booth," Sully said.

"So?" Booth said. "Worried about me getting the requisite eight hours of beauty sleep that a growing boy like me needs, Mom?"

Laughing, Sully said, "You could sleep 12 hours a night for the next five years, and even all that beauty sleep couldn't help an ugly guy like you."

"Funny," Booth responded, the evident sarcasm dripping in his voice.

"Okay, then how about this," Sully said. "You haven't slept, and I need you at your best when you're going through this stuff, Booth. We can't miss *anything*… and if you're sleep-deprived because you didn't get your nap today, Caroline will kick both our asses if we miss something. So, let's go get some lunch, then you're going home to grab some shut eye. I can ride out with you to Quantico first thing tomorrow morning to help start you off."

Booth was still frowning. Sully sighed, but held firm. Trying to entice his partner even more he said, "And, when I get back, I'll call over to the lab to let them know we're coming. They'll get a conference room ready for us to use to start going through the evidence, and then we won't have to wait while they pull the boxes. If I call today, they will have everything waiting for us to jump into as soon as we get there tomorrow. Sound like a plan?"

Silent for a moment, Booth suddenly felt a wave of fatigue wash over him, and for the first time in a long time, he yawned as he realized how tired he actually was. Nodding, Booth said, "Fine. But, it's your dime for my burger and fries."

"Deal," Sully said with a grin.

As the pair stood, Sully was too distracted to notice the photograph that Booth unobtrusively swept off the top of the desk and palmed into his trousers pocket. No, Sully didn't notice because he realized at that particular moment that if Booth had spent all night in the Hoover on the Brennan case files, he hadn't gone back to the pool hall… and that meant for the first time in months, Booth *hadn't* gone out after work and gambled. The thought sobered and pleased Sully, even as he realized that Booth was probably unaware of what had happened to him… all because of the death of one Dr. Temperance Brennan.

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	4. Ch 4: More Info about the Bones

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

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><p>Chapter 4 – Searching for More Info about the Bones<p>

* * *

><p>"What else can I get for you, Agent Booth?" a young female aid, who had been assigned to act as his guide and assistant during his time going through evidence at Quantico regarding the Brennan case, asked politely.<p>

Smiling at her, Booth said, "Nothing right now, Ms. Hastings. Thanks for finding those replacement batteries for the digital recorder. I think I'm set now. But, you've been a terrific help to me today. Thank you very much."

The younger woman, obviously besotted with Booth, responded to his charming smile with a pinkish blush as she looked down at the ground, murmured an appropriate response, and then turned around hastily to exit the room. Several hours earlier, Booth had realized that merely complementing the shy, but eager, young administrative assistant was the most efficient way to get her to leave him alone so he could get back to work. Booth had to admit that she was very good at procuring whatever tools he needed as he went through countless boxes and bags of evidence. When it got to the point that his had hand begun to hurt from the prolific amount of notes Booth was taking, Hastings had even solved that problem. She offered him a digital recorder and told Booth that she would be able to transcribe any notes he dictated. His hand cramps won over the idea that, in having her transcribe his dictated notes, Booth would still have deal with her making goo-goo eyes at him.

It wasn't that Hastings wasn't pretty, in a shy and reserved, sorta way, because she was. A petite woman with auburn hair and blue eyes, Booth had to admit that she did have a pretty smile. However, Booth also knew Hastings was young. The administrative assistant also seemed just a bit too submissive, too dependent, and too... clingy for his tastes. She spent the first three hours after Booth had arrived with Sully that morning hovering in the background as the worked. Both men knew that she must have had other jobs to do, but she stayed with them because something had gotten her attention. That something had actually turned out to be a *someone* - Booth. When Sully had left Booth to his task of sorting through the mountains of evidence that he had not exaggerated to his partner about, Booth tried to maintain a steady pace. The number of boxes seemed a bit daunting at first, but Booth had jumped in, going through it systematically, piece by piece. Some of the boxes didn't take very long. Brennan had been a typical squint in that she liked to collect things, but from what he had seen, Booth knew that she didn't save anything without a specific reason for doing so. A lot of the objects he saw were artifacts that she had collected over the course of her short career. Booth didn't much care for many of them, as her taste seemed to run to much to the macabre and native for his taste. It wasn't that he was expecting a U2 poster or a Tom Brady bobble head to emerge from the pots and bronze tools and theoretical books that littered the evidence boxes. However, he knew that had to be *something* unexpected for him to find about Brennan. His gut told him that she was not as big a straight squint as Sully and the others thought. Eventually, Booth *finally* found some evidence of her pop culture preferences - a stack of music CDs that confirmed what he had guessed. i.e., that Temperance Brennan was indeed a paradox. After all, how could a woman who had a CD entitled "Throat Chants of the Yoroba Tribe" stacked next to Cyndi Lauper's Greatest Hits not be interesting? Forcing his thoughts to stop wondering, Booth returned to his current stack of boxes when he finally heard the door click shut behind him indicating that Hastings had finally retreated and left him to his desired solitude.

Reaching for the newly restored digital recorder, Booth leaned back in the chair as he hit the record button and began to speak.

"Resuming Background Notes – August 26, 2004. Evidence Processing Session at the FBI Lab in Quantico, Virginia conducted by Special Agent Seeley Booth, regarding the homicide investigation of Dr. Temperance Brennan, date of death October 31, 1998 at the Jeffersonian Institute in Washington D.C. Original cause of death determined to be a single gun shot wound to the head, .22 caliber handgun. Case currently remains unsolved, but open, pending the discovery of any new information about the case. Additional background research is being conducted by Special Agent Booth at the request of Special Agent Timothy Sullivan. Agent Sullivan believes new information will emerge about the Brennan homicide pending the outcome of a second autopsy of Dr. Brennan's remains that began after her exhumation on August 18, 2004. The second autopsy is being conducted by personnel at the Jeffersonian Institute's Medico-Legal Lab, under the direction of Dr. Ian Wexler and Dr. Camille Saroyan. Federal Prosecutor Caroline Julian originally requested the exhumation on suspicion of irregularities in Dr. Brennan's original autopsy report surfacing that may indicate negligence, fraud, and/or criminal conspiracy when the autopsy was conducted by the Washington DC Medical Examiner in 1998. The examination into Dr. Brennan's murder remains linked to a series of cases currently under investigation by the Department of Justice, including the murder of FBI Special Agent Augustus Harper in Ohio in 1975."

Reaching for a glass of water, Booth paused the recording, trying to decide how best to summarize his day's work. Having taken individual notes on dozens of boxes of evidence, Booth now felt trying to put together some type of narrative about Brennan would help him figure out what to do next. Sipping it for a second or two, Booth glanced down to the photo of Brennan that lay propped up against an evidence box to his right. It happened to be the same photo that Booth had surreptitiously pocketed from the Brennan case file in his and Sully's office the previous day. For some reason, it helped to have her staring back at him as he worked. The photo continued to fascinate him, and Booth continued looking at it as he hit the button on the digital recorder once more.

"In trying to compile a new list of potential witnesses to interview about Dr. Brennan's life, in an attempt to determine why someone may have wanted to kill her in 1998, I've spent the better part of twenty-four hours reviewing evidence collected from her home and office. Dr. Brennan was almost twenty-three when she died. She was murdered approximately three and a half weeks before her birthday. However, despite her young age, she had accomplished a remarkable amount for someone who was only twenty-two. Dr. Brennan was born in Chicago, Illinois in November 1975 to Matthew Brennan, a science teacher at a local high school, and Christine Brennan, a bookkeeper. In December 1990, her parents and older brother Russ disappeared, and Dr. Brennan became a ward of the state of Illinois. She remained in the custody of several foster families until she applied for and was granted legal emancipation at the age of 17. Graduating high school early, she was accepted into the undergraduate program in Anthropology at Northwestern University. She finished her Bachelor of Sciences degree in two and a half years, and had just completed a PhD in forensic anthropology, with a specialization in osteology, a few months before her murder in 1998. University records indicate she also had two pending doctoral degrees that remained uncompleted. The only thing keeping the university from conferring those degrees, in the fields of kinesiology and cultural anthropology, was the lack of a submission of a completed dissertation. The university eventually posthumously awarded honorary degrees in these fields to Dr. Brennan in 1999."

Booth paused again, glanced at the picture, and then continued. "A preliminary review of the known personal connections leaves many questions as to who might be able to contribute useful information about Dr. Brennan's life shortly before she was murdered in new witness interviews. While this assessment is only preliminary and may change as I review more evidence, I'm not certain many individuals may have anything useful to contribute to the investigation. Dr. Brennan seems to have been a very private and very solitary person. She had been hired by the Jeffersonian Institute in April 1998 and only worked there for approximately six months before her murder. Jeffersonian personnel that should be interviewed include Dr. Daniel Goodman, who headed the search committee that resulted in Dr. Brennan's job offer. The only other Jeffersonian employee that worked with Dr. Brennan one several cases was Dr. Jack Hodgins. Both Goodman and Hodgins probably need to be re-interviewed. The disappearance of all Dr. Brennan's known family members is suspicious and should also be followed up on. While Dr. Brennan had lived in Washington DC for six months prior to her murder, no known friends or close associates have been followed up. It may also be worth it interviewing her land-lady. It is my initial assessment, however, that more information can be gained by speaking with the faculty and graduate students at Northwestern University who knew her best during the years of her professional development. Of chief importance, in my opinion, is contacting Dr. Michael Stires, since he served on Dr. Brennan's dissertation committee and was one of the individuals instrumental in founding the non-profit foundation dedicated to her memory."

Hitting the stop button again, Booth set down the recorder. He then stood up, and began to separate the boxes of evidence that would go into storage once more and the boxes that he would take with him for closer examination since he decided he had stared at the FBI conference room's boring beige walls enough for one day.

* * *

><p>Later that night, Booth sat on his couch surrounded by pieces of evidence that he had brought home, the majority of them being her handwritten notebooks. Most of them contained Brennan's copious notes on everything from lectures she had attended to dissertation research gleaned from library books. However, Booth also found the occasional more interesting notebook. Sometimes he found her making lists. Brennan obviously liked to plan what she would be doing in the future in the exact order in which she wanted events to transpire. He was particularly amused when he happened upon a shopping list that revealed she liked Earl Grey tea, cinnamon raisin bagels, low-fat cream cheese, pink lemonade, trail mix, and a milk and honey body wash. Booth chuckled at the intimate glimpse into Brennan's personality and wondered what the body wash smelled like. A few other notebooks all caught his attention when Booth realized they seemed to contain random half-completed plot outlines and character sketches for stories about a crime-fighting duo named Kathy and through an envelope full of photos - mostly of archaeological dig sites and skeletons, it seemed -when he considered stopping to examine a stack of audio CDs that were vaguely labeled: "Dissertation - Practical Research - Notes for Transcription."<p>

Eventually, Booth decided to ignore the CDs for now, as there still seemed to be so much more to read from Brennan's notebooks. The more he read about Temperance Brennan, the more his initial fascination intensified. He was in the middle of reading a detailed biographical sketch about her female antagonist Kathy Reichs when a knock on his door jolted him out of his distracted reverie. Frowning, Booth reluctantly got up and went to the door as the knocking persisted and started to get louder.

"I'm coming!" Booth yelled.

Glancing at the peephole, Booth's frown lessened when he saw the source of his interruption and opened the door. Dr. Camille Saroyan stood in front of him holding a six-pack of beer and a pizza. She gave Booth a wry smile when she saw he was home. "Damn, Seeley. You just cost me twenty-bucks. I told Sully there was no way in hell you'd be here tonight this early when he guilt tripped me into coming over here."

"Again, very amusing, Camille. And, don't call me 'Seeley'," Booth said. Arching an eyebrow at her, he nodded at the interior of the apartment. "I guess bearing such gifts, I can hardly turn you away. Want to come in?"

Nodding, Cam handed him the pizza. As he sniffed the wonderfulness of the box's warm contents, Booth surmised it may have been the scent of garlic that set his stomach rumbling. Cam noticed as she shut the door behind them. "I guess it was a good idea that Sully sent me over here with sustenance from the sounds of your stomach. He would have brought it by himself, but he's still at the lab with Ian going over some of the preliminary findings on the Brennan case. And, don't call me 'Camille'. Just because I let Ian get away with it because he's English, that doesn't mean you can, too."

"So, does that mean that Limey boyfriend of yours knows you're here and isn't the jealous type?" Booth called from the kitchen.

"Yup," Cam called as she walked forward. "Ian is wonderfully blasé about even the mere intimation of such things. He's just strange… and British like that."

"Remind me again why you're with him and not with me, Camille?" Booth called over his shoulder. "I mean, yeah, sure. He's got me beat on the accent. I can't argue that. But, we both know I'm better looking and... well, not to put too fine a point on it, but he seems like a bit of a lightweight when it comes to... physical stuff, if ya know what I mean?"

Cam laughed as she followed Booth into the kitchen. "I do know what you mean. And, I'll have you know that Ian is more... *physical* than he looks. He rows on the Potomac for several hours each week. He has *great* stamina."

"TMI, Cam!" Booth said. "I do not need to know about your English squint's stamina, thank you very much."

"Well, you did ask," Cam laughed.

"No," Booth corrected her. "All I said is that I don't understand why you're with Ian and not me. It's not like we weren't good together, Cam."

"That's true," Cam nodded. "But, we both know that while we had a lot of fun together... and I was extremely satisfied in a lot of ways, it just wasn't going to work, Seeley. You just... there wasn't enough of you to go around between Parker, me, and the gambling."

Scowling, Booth huffed. "You always made a bigger deal about that than you needed to... if I told you once, I've told you a hundred times, Camille. I've got it under control. I'm fine."

Arching her eyebrow at him, Cam said, "Meaning that you've been winning more than losing lately?"

"Cam," Booth growled.

Raising her hands in supplication, Cam said, "Listen, I'm not saying what I said to chastise you. It's your life, and your choices. You'll stop if and when you want to... it's just... you wanted to know why I'm with someone like Ian and not you? Well, that's the reason why, Booth. Ian loves me enough to put me first in his life... and, as much as I care about you, when we were together, I came in a distant #3... and as *great* a guy as you are, well... I deserve more than that. So, when Ian asked, I said yes. And, besides that... he's really quite a brilliant man. A bit... British at times, but I think we're good together."

"Good enough that you were ever going to tell me that you two moved in together?" Booth asked.

Inclining her head at him, she asked in surprise. "How did you know that?"

"Oh, come on, Cam," Booth laughed. "That's not a hard one."

"Ahh," Cam said instantly. "Tim Sullivan, the mouth of the south strikes again, huh?"

"Yup," Booth said. "You know there's three ways you can get at least half of the metro DC area to know something... telegram, telephone, or tell Sully."

Shaking her head, Cam left Booth to unpacking the pizza. Going into the family room, while Booth remained in the kitchen for plates and glasses, Cam looked in surprise over the stacks of evidence that lay spread out over the couch and coffee table. When Booth came back, Cam eyed him curiously, "Sully wasn't lying when he said this case has caught your attention, was he?"

Booth gestured to the stacks in a vague way as he handed Cam a plate and glass. In turn, she tossed him a can of beer. Booth proceeded to open it and pour it into his pint glass as he replied, "Well, yeah. Sorta. It's… I can't really explain it, but this case is the first thing in a long time that's been… well, interesting to me."

Cam considered his words for a minute and then said, "The case or the victim, Booth?"

"Okay," Booth said, realizing Cam knew him too well to get away with him trying to prevaricate. "I know that you know that I'd be lying if I said I didn't find the irregularities with her autopsy intriguing, but it's the vic… Brennan? *She's* the fascinating part here."

Looking over the stack of information, Cam said, "How so?"

"Well, you tell me," Booth said. "You told me that you had met her once or twice over the years at conferences. What was she like?"

Cam opened her own beer, took a sip, and then said, "Keeping in mind I never said more than three words to her personally because Temperance Brennan was only interested in talking to you if she thought you had something useful to convey to her… most of the time, I heard her speak on conference panels. She was… incredibly bright. Very, *very* intelligent, almost frighteningly so. Her brain must've worked about a hundred times faster than everyone else's. She had an incredible eye for detail, and I wouldn't have been surprised if she had an eidetic memory."

"But?" Booth prompted, knowing that Cam's tone indicated she was laying out the positives before launching into the negatives.

"But," Cam admitted. "And, not to speak ill of the dead, but Temperance Brennan was incredibly… abrupt. She was terse and extremely judgmental. Dr. Brennan would make decisions about something or someone extremely quickly, and once you were assessed, that was it. She seemed to be incredibly black and white. Loved logic, and embraced the stoic rationalism to a T, but not really the type of woman who gave me the warm fuzzies."

"You didn't like her," Booth said.

Cam shrugged. "From a professional standpoint, I had a great amount of respect and admiration for her and for her research. But, from a personal standpoint? No, she was a little too literal, a little too socially awkward for my tastes. Let's just say we weren't hanging out at the hotel bars after the conference panels had ended for the day. And, arrogant. She was too damn arrogant to my way of thinking. No one that young had a right to be that full of herself, but Brennan was… Her bearing, you know, it often made me wonder if she just popped out of her mother's womb like that? It wouldn't surprise me if she skipped infancy since she considered the indignations of being a baby to be too far beneath her?. Cam shrugged her shoulders again and then added, "So, that's what I know about Dr. Temperance Brennan. What have you found out?"

Taking another bite of his pizza, Booth said, "Hmmm. Well, like you said, she was brilliant. Very, very intelligent. And, most of what she wrote down, I can't make heads or tales out of the meaning… she was too much of a squint for her own good. I get the sense that she never really took time to relax or chill out. She liked to write everything down. She loved lists… and, the more detailed she could make things, the better. I bet she lived and died by a precise schedule each day. Brennan doesn't exactly scream spontaneity to me from what I've seen of her so far. Control, she loved to control things. And, she was thorough… *extremely* thorough…"

"But?" Cam prodded, knowing there was an exception in Booth's voice, much as he had known earlier. However, unlike in Cam's earlier case, she wasn't sure that what Booth had to add was all that negative. It was just *something* about the way in which he talked about Brennan that caught Cam's attention. Soon enough, her hunch was confirmed when he started to speak again.

"But," Booth continued. "But, there are times when I think I start to see this… this hint of something deeper, maybe, going on there? I think she had a creative side that she kept hidden. I've only caught glimpses of it here and there… but, for example, did you know she liked to write creatively?"

"What?" Cam guffawed. "Temperance Brennan? We're talking about the same woman here who was the bane of the peer review boards on four different scholarly journals as a *graduate* student because of how scathing her reviews could be on manuscripts that dared be too… 'imprecise in their articulation of ideas and concepts'?"

"Yeah, Brennan. The Bones lady," Booth said, with a nod and a chuckle "The same one. She's got several notebooks filled with story outlines and character studies. I think, at some point, she maybe wanted to write a novel."

"You ever find a manuscript?" Cam asked curiously.

Booth shook his head. "Not so far. But, it's possible if one exists its in her papers in Chicago. I won't know until I finish processing the stuff here in DC. Her belongings got split between the two places when she died."

"Okay," Cam said. "So, that still doesn't explain why you're so interested in things."

"Maybe," Booth began with tentative tone, "Maybe I just don't like the injustice of what was done to her. It was such a goddamn waste, Cam. Such a waste of potential. If she had lived… there's no telling what she could have done, how great she could have been…."

"Fair enough," Cam conceded. "You sure that's it, though? I've known you a long time, Booth, and I don't think I've ever seen you this… invested in something, besides raising Parker."

"I… I know," Booth said. "And, I can't really explain it myself. But, every time I look at her photograph, read her writing, touch something she touched? I just feel this intense sense of fascination… and, although it's weird... regret. And, the dichotomy she represents? It's intriguing. So, yeah… all of it, it makes me want to know why."

"And, the fact that she had a great body and a killer smile, on the rare occasions she chose to flaunt them, hasn't made accepting your quest any easier, has it?" Cam chuckled.

Booth looked at her, a serious tone coming into his voice as he said, "I wouldn't really know about the last one there, Camille. I've… I've never seen a picture where she's smiling."

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	5. Ch 5: Confessing about the Bones

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 5 – Confessing about the Bones to the Father<p>

* * *

><p>At about 4:45am, Booth removed one of his pillows from where he had pressed it on top of his head to block out the decreasing amount of darkness creeping through his window's blinds as the faintest stirrings that the night would soon be over came to his senses. Sighing, he rolled over, looked at the offensive neon green lettering of his alarm clock, and realized that he had spent the last three or four hours tossing and turning, but not really sleeping. Knowing that if he stayed in bed it would be just more of the same, regretfully, Booth threw back the covers and sat up. Kicking his feet off the edge of the bed, Booth reached for a bottle of water that he kept on the nightstand. Finishing what was left of it in two or three gulps, he tossed the empty bottle back onto the nightstand and stood up. He groaned once as he arched his back to stretch it out. Booth's back was not happy with him, and aside from the fact that his brain had been thinking too much last night to really fall asleep anyway, hours spent hunched over a conference table in the FBI Lab had done a number of his back. It was sore, tender, and generally in an unhappy state. Moving towards the bathroom in search of some ibuprofen, when Booth returned, he contemplated what his options were.<p>

Thinking for a minute, Booth immediately rejected the first idea that came into his head, i.e., returning to Quantico. He had been at the FBI Lab every morning during the past week when it opened at 7am, including Saturday. That thought, in turn, prompted Booth to remember suddenly that if yesterday had been Saturday, today was Sunday. A second thought vaguely crossed his mind.

He glanced at the crucifix that hung over the bed and frowned slightly. It was August… and, now that he tried to think about it, Booth realized that the last time he had stepped in a church was Easter Sunday… and, before that, Christmas Eve. It wasn't something that he had really done on purpose, but he just… well, he had other things that demanded his time, and getting up to go to mass on Sundays usually impeded and/or ruined his mentality for going to the bar to watch some of the Sunday games, shoot a few rounds of pool, and either court or reject Lady Luck, depending on how she decided to shine her fickle favor on him or not that day. Knowing, however, that he wanted to start going over the case notes that Booth had started to compile during his days at Quantico over the past week, including finishing going over the boxes of evidence he had brought home with him, Booth realized that his usual trip to the bar would have to wait, so nothing was keeping him from going to mass this morning.

Thinking about it a bit more, Booth weighed the pros and cons of getting up for church. On one hand, Booth was already up. He would also have to go out soon anyway coffee and some sort of sustenance since he didn't have any groceries in the kitchen but for beer and chips and salsa and candy. On the other hand, it was Sunday morning, *early* Sunday morning, and it was still dark outside. His stomach rumbling at that exact moment seemed to make the choice for him since he would have to go out anyway if he wanted to eat. Booth knew the weekly service schedule at St. Augustine's Seminary chapel began promptly at 7am on Sundays. They held masses once every two hours in the morning and the normal 6pm mass later that evening. Booth didn't know why he remembered that particular tidbit, but he did. Realizing that he would have enough time to stop by Molly's Java Shop on the way to St. Augustine's, despite the fact that he normally went to Holy Trinity for mass, Booth began to like the idea as he stood to dress even more because Molly's latte was among the most awesome to be procured and consumed in the DC Metro area.

Walking to his closet, Booth pulled out a dress shirt and then reached for one of his more somber colored suits. Images of Molly's strong black coffees and sweet cherry Danishes spurred him on in his actions as a small smile started to grow larger on Booth's handsome face.

* * *

><p>Four hours later, Booth sat outside on a bench in a small grotto that housed a shrine to the Virgin Mary. He wasn't really praying per se, but was thinking quietly. He continued looking at the venerated white marble statute that stood adorned by a bevy of white and blue flowers and surrounded a multitude of candles. Despite the fact that it was the middle of August in DC, and the humidity had spurred him to shed his suit jacket, this early in the morning, it wasn't quite as unbearable as it would be later in the day.<p>

While Booth continued to reflect on the Brennan case, trying to decide how to prioritize the growing list of people to interview and re-interview as Sully had asked him to do, Booth barely registered when a man entered the grotto and moved to sit down on a bench that sat on the direct opposite side from where Booth was thinking. Glancing up with a silent nod, Booth didn't pay much attention to the older looking man until he saw the priest's collar.

Smiling, the older man nodded at Booth, and said, "Good morning."

Nodding back as he had been taught to do since the earliest lessons of CCD as a child, Booth automatically responded, "Good morning, Father."

He turned his gaze back to the statue, and for a while, the only sound that disturbed the pair was each man's breathing. The priest seemed to be praying, and Booth, while looking at the statue, was still meditating on the Brennan case. Realizing that although his actions were in no way disrespectful or sacrilegious since he was just sitting there quietly, Booth still began to feel off since he assumed the priest *was* praying. He didn't like it seeming as if he was intruding on the sanctum once the priest arrived and had started to say his prayers.

Standing to leave, Booth had not even taken a single step before the priest looked over and smiled. "Please, my son, don't leave on my account."

Booth flushed slightly, but forcing a smile, he responded, "I'm not, Father. I just… I've just finished and wanted to leave you in peace."

Looking at him, the priest cocked his head at Booth as he responded quizzically, "Peace can be a very elusive thing to achieve for those who never had it to begin with, my son."

Booth considered the words for a few seconds, and then nodded. "Does coming here help?"

"At times, yes," the priest responded. "But, it always seems to elude me in the grand scheme of things. I've spent the majority of my adult life trying to attain it, but whenever I think I've finally found it, it's fleeting. A moment here, a moment there. That's it. Over the years, I've come to think that maybe we only find peace when we're dead. Until then, it's the search, the struggle for peace that keeps us alive and managing from one day to the next."

Thinking on the meaning of the priest's words, Booth finally asked, "That's fairly cynical, Father."

Nodding, the priest replied, "Yeah, it probably is. And, just FYI, that's not official company policy, just the ramblings of an old man to a young man who looks like they might have something in common on an early Sunday morning."

"Something in common?" Booth asked.

"Sure," the priest said. "I mean, it's Sunday morning… and here we both are, turning to the blessed lady over there for guidance… and maybe a spark of inspiration."

Glancing at the statute, Booth took another moment as he realized that he hadn't quite considered his predicament from that point of view. However, now that it was pointed out to him from such a vantage point, Booth couldn't help but agree with the assessment.

Sighing, Booth walked over and sat down at the opposite end of the bench where the priest sat. Nodding at the statute, Booth finally admitted, "I really hadn't thought of it like that, but you're probably right. I… I've got a lot on my mind, and I'm grappling with how it would be best to proceed."

"Kid or girl?" the priest asked nonchalantly.

Looking up in surprise, Booth aside, "Pardon, Father?"

"The thing you're 'grappling' with… is it your kid or your girl?" the priest asked. Smiling he said, "I've been doing this thing long enough, son, that I know it's usually a problem with your child or a problem with your lady that brings a good looking man like you to a see the Blessed Mother, by yourself, on a Sunday morning at 7am."

Somewhat amused by the observation, Booth nodded. "I would have to say then, it's probably—"

"What?" he prodded gently.

After a minute, Booth sighed and reluctantly responded. "A girl," Booth said. "I've had this girl on my mind for the past couple of weeks, and I can't stop thinking about her."

"Is she married?"

"No," Booth began. "But, it's... complicated."

"Boyfriend?"

"No, she… no, she… having a boyfriend isn't the issue," Booth said, trying not to go into too many details.

"Well," the priest considered. "I don't see what the problem is… like I said, a good looking guy like you shouldn't have any problem with any kinda girl I can think of—"

"She… she's not your average type of girl," Booth said. "It's… she's just not someone I can simply go up to and ask her if she wants to go to dinner. Even if I could... I just... like I said, Father. It's complicated."

"As a neutral observer here, it sounds like you might be making this more difficult than it needs to be. You're a man, she's a woman... ask her out."

Booth shook his head. "Look, Father. There's a lot more to it than that. Much, much more."

"I don't see how," the priest conceded. "As long as you're talking to her, if you keep at it, a charming guy like you should be able to breach whatever walls even the most intelligent and extraordinary of girls may have been able to put up to protect herself and, eventually, you'll get to where you need to go."

Booth chuckled, and said, "Well, as optimistic as that sounds coming from a cynic like you Father, and believe me when I say I do appreciate the sentiments, like I mentioned, it's really not that easy. She's... she's... the whole situation... it's just definitely a bit more complicated than that."

"Have you at least tried talking to her yet?" the priest asked. "I've observed, in others over the years, that the first and most simple step to winning a lady's heart very often overlooked is the mere art of conversation."

Considering the question, Booth realized that from both a metaphorical and a physical perspective, the answer to the priest's question was no. Slowly, he shook his head. The priest grinned and then pointed at Booth with his finger.

"Ahh, well, there you go. There's your problem. You can't expect to make any progress with a girl unless you go and talk to her," the priest chided him lightly.

Again, realizing that from a certain perspective that the priest was right, Booth nodded. For some reason, and Booth wasn't sure why, but he suddenly felt like he knew exactly what he needed to do next. Extending his hand, Booth said, "You know what, Father? You're right."

Taking his hand in a firm grasp, the priest shook it as he said, "It doesn't happen often, but it's nice to hear it when it does occur."

"Thank you," Booth said.

"You're quite welcome, my son," the priest said as he let go of Booth's hand. Smiling a larger grin, he nodded and said, "Feel free to come back any time. You're always welcome here."

Inclining his head, Booth smiled. "Thanks, Father. I'm Booth, by the way. Seeley Booth."

Smiling, the priest nodded as he said, "Father Toby Coulter."

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Booth said. "And, again, thanks."

Nodding his goodbyes, Booth turned to leave when the priest's voice stopped him. "Mr. Booth?"

Looking back, Booth said, "It's just Booth, Father Coulter. Mr. Booth is my father."

"Ahh," Father Coulter smiled. "All right." He stopped for a moment and then inclined his head as he said, "Can I ask you an odd question… more to satisfy an old man's curiosity than anything else?"

"Sure," Booth said. "Shoot."

"What's your gal's name?" Father Coulter asked.

"She's not my girl-" Booth immediately began to protest.

"Sure, sure, kid. I get it. Things are 'complicated'. Even still... what's her name?"

Booth hesitated only for a moment before he responded firmly, believing the slight fib was only untrue from certain perspectives as he said, "Temperance."

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	6. Ch 6: Talking with the Bones

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 6 – Talking with the Bones<p>

* * *

><p>"You know what? I really don't know how to start talking to a certified genius," Booth said. "I've never been good talking to you squint types, so, if you want to cut me a break and give me a hint about how to make this go a bit easier, that'd be great."<p>

His words were greeted by silence.

Staring at the photo in front of him, Booth nodded. "No? Really? Nothing?"

More silence followed.

"Oh, come on. After all this time I've spent reading your squinty articles, you're not going to throw me a bone?" Booth chuckled.

Again, his pleas remained unanswered. Grabbing the photo, Booth shook his head. "Figures. But, we can't tell the padre now that I didn't at least try to talk to you, right? You're just not answering me back."

Yawning, and realizing how long he had been working through various lists and the evidence boxes, Booth glanced at the clock and finally noticed how late it was. However, he still couldn't help himself as he wasn't quite ready to go to bed yet. Nodding to himself, Booth reached over and grabbed one of the audio CDs that had been sitting on the edge of his coffee table for several days. Booth stood and walked to the stereo, popped the CD in, and then pressed the play button. As soon as he heard her voice, Booth again felt that icy shiver that had occasionally been running up and down his spine since the very first night of the case make a return appearance.

"Audio CD #1. Notes for Transcription. Dissertation Research. January 24, 1998. Temperance Brennan, Doctoral Candidate, Department of Anthropology, Northwestern University, Chicago, Illinois. I completed the examination of the eighteenth-century American settler at the Field Museum on Monday. The settler, a male, Caucasian, late teens to early twenties was probably a soldier for the Patriot war effort. Several of my professors have been encouraging me lately to make such intuitive jumps in my analyses. Dr. Gardner, in particular, believes that in certain circumstances, making a well-educated supposition about my work should in no way detract from its accuracy or overall value—"

At this, Booth laughed. Pointing at the picture, he said, "It's called a 'guess', Dr. Brennan. A 'guess'."

Staring at her, Booth continued to let her words drone on as he realized that he didn't much prefer referring to her in such a formal manner.

"You know," he began. "Since we've spent so much time together recently, I think it's only fair if I get to call you something other than your title. I mean, it's not like I make you go around calling me Special Agent Seeley J. Booth of the Federal Bureau of Investigations. 'Booth' is just fine. But, I can't call you 'Temperance'. That's just too many syllables…."

Considering this for a moment, Booth said, "Your dad called you 'Tempe', according to the notes from your casefile from when the social workers interviewed you after your parents disappeared. So, is that what your friends called you? I think I like it better than Temperance. But, it's still… it still doesn't feel right. I mean, when I think of you, I think of bones… and not just because that's how we first met."

Booth paused, glanced back up at the stereo which was still playing her audio CD, and then smiled. "Hey. Yeah. I think that might work. It's probably time that I told ya, I really have enjoyed getting up and going to work each day since we got your case, Bones. It's… it's been different. Different, good, though. Not, different as in you ordered a regular Coke, but the waitress brought you a Diet Coke, and you don't realize it until after it's too late because you've already swallowed." Leaning back into the couch, Booth smiled as he yawned again. "Yeah, it's definitely been enjoyable in a weird and morbid kind of way."

The tone of Brennan's voice continued to lull Booth into a hypnotic state. She was currently going on about something she had noticed in the kerf markings on the skeleton's scapula, when Booth couldn't help but murmur, "You know, Bones… I think I may have to make copies of these CDs. You seem to have a knack for putting me to sleep. It's a dead Revolutionary War soldier. How can anyone possible make that seem as boring as you going on and on in that long-winded squint rant of yours makes it sound?"

"I take extreme issue with that assessment," came the words over the stereo. "The indentations on the C6 and C7 vertebrae are fascinating. I fail to see why your inability to comprehend its osteological significance in any way merits that appellation of my verbal assessment being described as 'boring'. And, Bones isn't my name."

"Boy, bossy much? And, it's just a nickname, Bones," Booth replied.

"Oh, yes. I see. Well, I could call you… insomnia!" the voice retorted, a hint of excitement coming into its tone.

"Insomnia? Why insomnia? What kind of nickname is that?" Booth asked.

"Because, it seems as if since you've met me, you haven't been sleeping a lot," came the retort. "Such a nickname, ergo, would be quite appropriate."

"You know what… how about we just stick to Booth? I'm Booth. You're Bones. That sounds good. That sounds like a plan," Booth said.

"Why?" came the annoyed remark. "Just because you say it so imperialistically, it must be so?"

"Wow!" Booth said. "You know… I figured you wrote using the big words to look impressive on paper. I kinda guessed that your favorite book was a thesaurus. I didn't actually think you talked like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you actually *like* having to talk using words that have a minimum of three-syllables," Booth commented.

"I see no reason why I should modify the way I speak just because my normal vocabulary proclivities are more advanced then the grunts and groans that pass for communication among most people such as yourself," she retorted.

"Wow!"

"Why do you keep repeating that exclamation?"

"I'm just… at a loss for words, Bones. I mean, I know I talked to Cam and your dad, but none of them ever mentioned that you were this… obnoxious," Booth said. He stopped and then said, "Okay, well maybe it was hinted at, but how can you be this bad? You really have to work on that. It may be one of the reasons why people think that you're this overbearing, arrogant, grammar Nazi."

"I am not, nor have I ever been, a member of the National Socialist German Workers Party," she responded immediately.

"And, that's another thing. Why do you keep doing that? You're a smart enough girl-"

"By the standards of every single society and human cultures, both civilized and uncivilized, that I can think of, I do not believe a single one would consider it accurate to refer to me as a girl-"

"See? There you go again," Booth said. "Why do you have to do that?"

"Do what exactly? Be precise in my verbalizations?" she asked.

"Yeah," Booth countered. "And, argue every point, why we're at it."

"It's not arguing a point if you're wrong, and I'm just bringing attention to your errors and inadequacies."

"Okay, there," Booth said defensively. "I may be many things, but I'm not, nor have I ever been inadequate, thank you very much."

"Your tone indicates that you have taken offense at my application of the label inadequate to your person. Normally, I have observed that males only become instantaneously defensive and irrational when they believe reference is being made to physical inadequacies which they possess. And, while I was not referring to any sexual inadequacies you may have-"

"I just told you, I'm not 'inadequate'!" Booth protested. "I'm, err... I'm just fine. More than fine, okay? Sexually, or in any other way."

"Then, why did you become defensive when I used the word 'sexual'? Are your prudish about the open and honest discussion of a topic that broaches a sexual nature?"

"Boy, Cam wasn't lying when she said you were direct," Booth mused.

"I find that such 'directness' is highly effective way to save time that is otherwise wasted on unnecessary social pleasantries. Now, will you answer my question?"

"Which one?" Booth asked.

"The one where I inquired if you feel uncomfortable discussing sexually-related topics because you are prudish?" she repeated.

"I'm not a prude!" Booth said, again defending himself.

"Then, perhaps your reluctance to discuss sexual topics stems from personal embarrassment over some sexually-related topic? Are you sexually dysfunctional in some atypical way?"

"What?" Booths asked, incredulously. "Sexually dysfunctional? No! I'm not-"

"Then why are you so uncomfortable about-"

"I just told you to stop taking everything so literally. Sometimes, a cigar is just a cigar, okay?" Booth said in exasperation.

"I don't know what that means."

"What? A smarty-pants like you has never heard of good old Siggy?" Booth laughed.

"Siggy?"

"Siggy, as in Sigmund, as in Sigmund Freud. You know? He said that sometimes when people dream of a cigar, there's no symbolism behind it. It's just a cigar," Booth said.

"As opposed to the phallic connotation that most practitioners of psychoanalysis assign to such imagery?" she asked.

"Whoa!" Booth said. "Who said anything about any phalluses?"

"No one," she agreed. "But, if you're going to try to deny to me that a cigar is not a phallic symbol, you are quite mistaken."

"That was my whole point, Bones. Sometimes things aren't symbolic—"

"Then, you were mistaken in your assessment that when I conceptualize verbal speech in a literal manner that I have made a mistake. By your own assessment, in reality, if a 'cigar is just a cigar', then my literal assessment was correct. And, by the way, I *do* know who Sigmund Freud was… I just find that I detest all things related to psychology. It's a soft pseudo-science with no real benefit or purpose," she said. Stopping, almost as an afterthought, she then told him, "And, don't call me Bones."

Sighing, Booth said, "I'm exhausted, and we've only been talking for twenty minutes. How can you be this exhausting?"

"I'm not the one who's exhausting here. You're the one who is fatiguing yourself by overreacting to my personality."

Scowling, Booth said, "I am *not* overreacting here."

"Fine. You're not overreacting," she said.

"Thank you," Booth said tersely.

"But, you're the one who keeps telling people that I 'fascinate' you. It's starting to border on the disturbing just a bit, don't you think? If I was the type of individual who gave psychology any time of value, I might say that you're even starting to border on obsessed. You've been focused on nothing but my murder for days now-"

"Hey!" Booth interrupted. "I'm not obsessed with you."

"Oh, really?" came the response.

"No, I'm not. It's just... I want to solve this case," Booth offered.

"So," she began. "Although I'm not saying I agree with the statement I am about to make in any way possible, because I believe emotional connections to be fleeting at best, don't you think it a bit strange that you keep professing to 'know' me to your closest co-workers and friends? You've never even met me before, and I think you think you're falling in love with me."

Booth immediately tensed. "Hey, now!"

"What?" came the innocent reply.

"I don't think I'm in love with you," Booth protested. "I don't think I'm in love with you, and I'm not obsessed with you, okay?"

"Then, why are you having an imaginary conversation with a dead woman?"

Clinching his fists in frustration, Booth opened his mouth and then immediately snapped it shut.

A laughing note came into her voice as she said, "Told you."

"You know what, you're just a case, Bones. Another vic who died. That's it. I'm not obsessed with you. I'm just working the case because catching bad guys is sorta what I do, Bones. I'd think if anyone would be grateful, it would be you."

"And, why's that?"

"Because, you know, you were... the victim," Booth said.

"I find that I do not have a high degree of comfort with the use of that adjective applied to me, and that's the second time you referred to me as such in less than two minutes. I'm in no way a weak individual, Booth, but-"

"You were murdered," Booth pointed out. "And, that's the answer to your question, by the way. I can guaran-damn-tee you that your irregularly scheduled and unanticipated interruption of my life wouldn't have happened if not for Caroline and Sully's do-gooder tendencies."

"Well, that does explain things then, I suppose, because, frankly, I'm not quite sure about what a man like you would be interested in a woman like me for besides the fact that I am physically attractive and very vigorous sexually—"

"Whoa!" Booth exclaimed. "There is just *so* much wrong with that whole statement, I don't even know where to begin."

"We could start with your apparent obsessive use of equine anthropomorphic use of animal noises to describe certain situations," she pointed out.

"Or, we could start with what you meant when you said a guy like me. What does that mean exactly?" Booth said.

"While you are extremely pleasing aesthetically, given your symmetrical facial structure and broad shoulders—"

"You can just say you think I'm sexy," Booth interrupted.

"I doubt that a man like you would have very much in common with a female such as myself. My IQ is no doubt much higher than yours—"

"Did you just call me stupid? Because, if you did, Bones, I think I'm going to have to be insulted," Booth called out.

"No, I did not just call you stupid," she said.

"I dunno, Bones. Seems to me like you've refused to admit that you think I'm sexy and then you called me stupid," Booth replied, his tone taunting her just a bit.

"All I meant was that men like you and women like me have different interests and pursuits in life. Our mental thought processes function a different way. I doubt very seriously we would have much in common upon which to form a meaningful interaction of any kind beyond the physical," she said.

"Wrong again," Booth said. "I wonder, though—"

"What?"

"How long have you been spouting that stuff over the years to keep guys away?" Booth said. "I guess I should probably tell you upfront, that whole pushing me away thing? It's not going to work."

"And, why do you think that? It's not like you're the first guy who's ever tried to get close to me. What makes you so special that you think you can understand me? What makes you think you can succeed where everyone else has failed? What's so different about you?"

"Because… I'm me. You're Bones. I'm Booth. And, *that's* pretty damn special," Booth grinned.

"We'll see about that one, won't we?" she asked.

"I'm not sure how quite yet, but, yeah, Bones. We will. I'll figure out a way about how to fix... all *this*... I promise," Booth said honestly.

Suddenly a phone ring jolted Booth forward. Sitting up on the couch from where he had been dozing, Booth realized the audio CD was still going. Brennan was now making observations on femur length and osteological mineral profiles. Shaking his head to clear it of the weird thoughts he had imagined, Booth realized that he really needed to get some sleep when he saw Sully's text message reminding him to go to bed so they could make their 8am briefing at the Jeffersonian on time. Standing up, Booth went to the stereo, turned it off, shut off several lights in the family room, and then walked towards his bedroom, finally calling it a night.

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	7. Ch 7: The Coworkers of the Bones

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 7 – The Coworkers of the Bones<p>

* * *

><p>Dr. Ian Wexler sat behind his desk, his legs casually perched on the edge of the surface. He considered Booth's question carefully.<p>

"Well, Goodman is… an interesting fellow. He's an archaeologist by training, so a bit too… symbolic for my tastes. But, he's got an excellent memory and pays attention to details, which I can respect. As long as you know going in that he's a chap that may be adding some extra bit of interpretation for you, because that's just the sort of things that archaeologists do to escape the tedium of their field, you'll be just fine," Wexler said.

"Okay, good to know," Booth said. "And, what about the other one? Dr. Jack… Hogins?"

"*Hodgins*, my dear Agent Booth, *Hodgins*," Wexler said. He then stopped for a minute, and looked at Booth as he let his voice trail off, "Ahh, what to say about the lovely Dr. Hodgins?"

"What?" Booth asked. "Is that a rhetorical question?"

"No, not really. It's just that dealing with Dr. Hodgins is a bit of an... experience onto itself. The chap is somewhat of an acquired taste, if you take my meaning," Wexler said. "I've been telling Camille and the others for years that we really should let him out of the dungeon more often than we do because he's a brilliant fellow, and maybe having a spot of recess will help him learn to play nice with the other kiddies, and make working with him less painful, but-"

"But?" Booth asked.

"But," Wexler said. "Well, suffice to say... Agent Booth, I find I'm at a loss of words. Dr. Hodgins is a bit of a challenge to adequately explain if you haven't met him before."

"Why?" Booth asked. "Are there too many good things that you don't know which one to start with? Or, are there so many bad things that you're trying to scramble for an excuse that let's you off the hook about saying something mean about him?" Booth stopped and then looked at Wexler to add a bit of clarification. "That's my attempt at being more politic, by the way, since I'd probably just say he was an asshole and move on if it were me... all in deference to you English blokes since you aren't allowed to be quite as crude and vulgar as a dumb Yank like me, of course."

"Oh, I assure you, Agent Booth, I can be quite crude and pruriently vulgar when the mood suits me, and it's appropriate. Just ask Camille," Wexler grinned wickedly.

Shaking his head, Booth said, "You know what? Just stop right there. The last thing I need to hear about are any innuendos about you and Cam and your sex lives, okay? I get it. You guys are together, boyfriend/girlfriend, whatever. But, please, just spare me the details, okay?"

"Why?" Wexler said. "The fact that Camille and I are now living together, and have been 'together' exclusively for almost two years, to use a comfortable modern colloquialism… does that make you feel uncomfortable for some reason, Agent Booth?"

"Hell, no," Booth responded instantaneously. "I just don't like… talking about stuff like *that* at work, okay?"

"Ahh," Wexler said, comprehension dawning. "It's the professional nature of our current environment that's off-putting to you, then, and that's what's impeding the natural flow of our conversation?"

"Err, sure," Booth said.

"So, as long as a few pints are in front of us, trading tales is okay? You aren't a Puritan after all, then? If so, that makes me feel much, much better. I must confess, I've spent a great deal of time since I've met you trying to figure out how such a squeamish prude - like the one you appeared to be at our first meeting - could have ever caught and held the attentions of such a fabulous bird like Camille," Wexler confided in him. "It just didn't make much sense to me, I'm afraid."

"I'm not a prude!" Booth said a bit more loudly than he had intended, as he pointed at Ian, who was grinning. Recalling the annoyed disembodied voice of another squint that had seemingly accused Booth of the very same thing not a day before, Booth knew he was being a bit oversensitive on the matter. Lowering his tone of voice, Booth attempted a bit of damage control as he said, "Look, I'm not a prude, sexually inadequate, or sexually dysfunctional. I just... unlike *some* people, I take things like… *that* seriously, Dr. Wexler. I'm a gentleman. And, just because I don't like to kiss and tell doesn't mean I'm a Puritan, okay?"

"Yes, yes, of course. Forgive me, please," Wexler said, a bit of a wry smile still lurking at the edge of his lips.

"And, for your information, I'm not squeamish either. I just drank some bad orange juice the morning I got…sick," Booth insisted firmly.

Nodding, Wexler smiled and then said, "To answer your earlier question, about Dr. Hodgins? It's a bit of both. The man is utterly brilliant. He holds three degrees in entomology, botany, and mineralogy."

"Bugs, slime, and dirt?" Booth translated.

Wexler winced a bit at Booth's terminology. Shaking his head, he said, "First rule of advice with Dr. Hodgins, Agent Booth, is this: Don't ever use the word 'dirt' around him. You don't want to know why. Just trust me, and you'll save yourself a lot of rants and time in the process."

"Okay," Booth said. "What else?"

"He's brilliant, as I said, but Dr. Hodgins is also what Camille calls the 'cranky curmudgeon' of the lab. He has a bit of an anger management problem that means, as I said, he rarely plays well with the other children," Wexler said. "I wouldn't be surprised if he was clinically paranoid as well, but that last bit is just speculation on my part."

"Ahh, great," Booth said, with a bit of a dejection creeping into his voice. "So, the two people who knew Temperance Brennan best were a tall-tale telling archaeologist and an angry paranoid bug person?"

"Cheers, mate," Wexler said. "It sounds as if you've got the spot of it, after all."

Shaking his head, Booth glanced at his watch, and, after thanking Wexler, left the lab to start the first interview with Dr. Daniel Goodman.

* * *

><p>"I just want to thank you again for agreeing to meet with me, Dr. Goodman. I know you're got a very busy schedule," Booth said, as he shook the older man's hand.<p>

Politely nodding, Goodman said, "Of course. Anything I can do to help find out what happened to Dr. Brennan, please, just let me know."

"Well, I figured we'd start with the usual. A few questions?" Booth asked.

"Yes, please," Goodman said. "Proceed."

"What can you tell me about Dr. Brennan?" Booth asked.

"She was one of the most intelligent people, male or female, that I've ever met. And, that's not an exaggeration or a bit of overblown praise tossed out to assuage the dead. I've come into with a lot of different types of people over the years, Agent Booth, and if there's one thing I know, it's potential. I have no doubt that, had she lived, Dr. Brennan would have revolutionized the field of forensic anthropology. She was a legend in the making, the best and the brightest in her field, and it was a horrific tragedy when that greatness was simply snuffed out like it was in such a brutal fashion."

"I understand that you were the first person who found her body and reported it to the police?" Booth asked.

Nodding his head curtly, Goodman said, "Indeed. I went into her office, and at first, I thought she had merely fallen asleep at her desk. She was sitting at her desk, in her chair, and appeared very peaceful as I approached. It wasn't until I got closer that I noticed she wasn't sleeping."

"I see," Booth said. "And, what can you tell me about her personality? What type of woman was she?"

"As I said, Agent Booth, if there was a single word I would apply to Dr. Temperance Brennan, it would have been potential," Goodman said.

"And, so… her potential? Is that the reason you hired her?" Booth asked.

"Partially, yes. At the time she was hired, we didn't really have a formal forensics department here at the Jeffersonian. She was actually hired as an osteological specialist to work on cataloging some of our unidentified prehistoric and historic remains. I'm not sure how familiar you might be with it, but federal legislation known as NAGPRA was passed in 1991. The NAGPRA law resulted in a massive backlog of material processing for the Jeffersonian's extensive collections, as we attempted to identify and to repatriate Native American remains and funerary items back to their respective tribes. At the time of her death, Dr. Brennan was working on a case of a prehistoric hunter who was murdered approximately 4000 years ago. She was very close to determining cause of death before she herself was killed. It would have been a remarkable discovery for someone her age to make... and quite the feather in the proverbial cap of the Jeffersonian if she had managed to pull it off as it appeared she was in the process of actually doing."

"Was she working on any other cases at the time she was killed that are in any way considered controversial? Any other NAGPRA repatriation cases that may have made her enemies, for example?" Booth asked.

"Good Lord, no," Goodman said. "Dr. Brennan was… too good for anyone even to consider attempting to insult her. She didn't intimidate easily."

"And, at the time of her death, do you remember any… any odd changes in her behavior? Alterations of her routine?" Booth asked.

"No," Goodman said. "Not really. Dr. Brennan was extremely regimented. She very rarely ever changed her schedule. I was the one who worked most closely with her in the short time she called the Jeffersonian home. I know I would have noticed something like that if it had occurred."

Nodding, Booth stood and again extended his hand, offering Goodman a card. "Well, thank you very much, Dr. Goodman. You've been a very big help. If you remember anything else that you think might be relevant, even if it seems insignificant, please don't hesitate to call me. My contact information is on the card."

"Of course, Agent Booth. Of course," Goodman said with a somber nod of farewell, as Booth turned and then left the office.

* * *

><p>Booth's next appointment was the one he was anticipating the most for some reason. Wexler's description of Dr. Jack Hodgins amused him. If nothing else, Booth knew it wouldn't be a routine interview, and that fact alone was enough to titillate him in anticipation of their upcoming conversation.<p>

Following Goodman's assistant into the bowels of the Jeffersonian, Booth walked through a twisted maze of hallways until, at last, the young woman stopped at a bleak looking door and pointed.

"There he is," the young woman said timidly, when, prior to reaching the basement, she had seemed anything but. Spinning on her heels, she stopped only long enough to wish him luck before hastily retreating and then disappearing all together.

Frowning, Booth rapped loudly on the door three times before he heard a bellow of response.

"WHAT?"

Opening the door, Booth entered and scanned the room. A man in a blue lab coat with curly red hair stood behind a microscope. Booth took his badge and waved it in the air as he said, "I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI. I'm looking for Dr. Jack Hodgins?"

"Well, you've found him. Or, interrupted him, to be more accurate. What do you want?" Hodgins asked, not bothering to look up from his microscope.

"Dr. Daniel Goodman told me you were expecting me? I'm investigating the murder of Dr. Temperance Brennan. He said you're one of the few remaining members still on staff at the Jeffersonian that had worked with her and might be able to help me?" Booth asked.

At this, Hodgins' head jerked up. "You're here about Dr. B?"

"Temperance Brennan? Yeah," Booth said.

"Well, it's about damn time," Hodgins said, coming out from around the worktable. He came to stand in front of Booth as he said, "Tell me, did my website about her death finally get your attention?"

"Uh, excuse me?" Booth said. "What website?"

"My website," Hodgins said. "Her murder was a part of an elaborate government plot to restrict the repatriation of certain priceless Native American grave artifacts from the Jeffersonian's collection."

His eyes widening in surprise, Booth said, "You have proof of this?"

At this, Hodgins flushed a bit. "Define 'proof'."

"Something conclusive that would hold to a test of intense scrutiny in a court of law?" Booth offered.

Frowning, Hodgins said, "Well, when you put it that way, then no. But, that's sort of one of the issues that you always have to deal with when you're working with stuff like this, you know? When it's a crime related to a criminal government conspiracy, actual 'proof', as you defined, is sorta hard to come by, Agent Booth."

"Uh huh," Booth said indulgently. "And, have you told anyone here at the Jeffersonian about this... theory of yours?"

"Of course!" Hodgins said. "But, Goodman just gives me this indulgent and patronizing wanktard nod of his and sends me on my way as soon as it ever comes up. Why do you think I've been banished to the bowels of the Jeffersonian basement? He's never taken it... or me, for that matter, seriously."

"Can I have the URL?" Booth asked.

"Sure," Hodgins said, suddenly excited.

As he scribbled the web address down on a piece of paper, Booth watched him curiously. Hodgins stood and offered him the paper. Taking it, Booth said, "Thanks."

"No problem, man. Anything I can do that'll help to let people know what actually happened to Dr. B... I'm all for it," Hogdins said.

Booth said, "Can I ask you a couple of other questions about her then?"

"Dr. B? Sure," Hodgins said.

"How well did you know her?" Booth inquired.

"About as well as anyone here... maybe slightly better, I suppose. She was in the process of hiring an intern when she was murdered, but hadn't actually made a final choice. I think she was going to offer the job to this really, really strange kid from Michigan who came from some tribe of like fifty family members who lived all in one house, but since she died, there kinda wasn't the need for him to work for her. Last I heard, I think he had taken a position at Stanford. Anyway, since she hadn't found an intern yet, it was really just the two of us working on the prehistoric hunter case in the months before she was killed," Hodgins said.

"Goodman said he knew her best," Booth casually mentioned.

"Yeah, well, like I said, Goodman's a wanktard. He's wrong," Hodgins said.

"And, why's that?" Booth asked.

"Goodman is a morning person, in at 9, gone by 5, if he can possibly help it. People like Dr. B and I are night owls. Later in and later out. Normally, neither one of us would leave limbo before 2am or 3am in the morning. Goodman was on the opposite schedule time-wise and so rarely saw either one of us for any prolonged period of time outside of the weekly staff meetings," Hodgins said.

"Okay," Booth nodded. "That's helpful... but, what can you tell me about her… aside from the fact that she was smart and liked to work late?" Booth asked.

"Brennan tended to keep to herself. But, since we were all kind of like that, I don't suppose that's very helpful," Hodgins said lamely.

"Yeah, well, not really," Booth confirmed.

"Okay, let me try again. It's hard to explain, though," Hodgins said.

"Right," Booth agreed. "Try, though," Booth replied.

"Okay," Hodgins repeated. "I know it'll seem a bit vague, but try this. You know those moments in time when you know you're seeing someone or something great, but then… something happens, and you know something that wasn't supposed to occur kept that someone or something great from happening in the first place?" Hodgins asked.

"Yeah," Booth said, a little too fast. He then ran back in his mind what Hodgins had said and then amended, "At least, I think so."

"Well, Dr. B was kind of like that. If she had lived longer… things here at the Jeffersonian would have changed. She… she had so much potential it was scary," Hodgins said.

Booth made a note that both Goodman and Hodgins had used the same word to describe Brennan - 'potential'. Deciding that perhaps another tactic was needed, Booth changed direction a bit in the way he was questioning the usually talkative and forthcoming squint.

"What can you tell me about her friends? People she was hanging around with before she died?" Booth said.

Hodgins shrugged. "Dr. B didn't have a lot of friends. Most of the ones she had were still in Chicago. I think she kept in touch with them by email mostly, and occasionally talked to a couple of them on the phone, But, here in DC? Not so much. She was what most non-squints like you might call the solitary type. She kept to herself, and as long as she had her bones, that was fine by her."

"Did she have a boyfriend?" Booth asked.

Shaking his head, Hodgins said, "No, I don't think so. The closest thing to it, I would say - and by close, I mean for lack of anything else, or anyone else, even remotely similar to meeting that description - was that she spent what little free time she had with that old professor of hers… what was his name? Skires?"

"Stires?" Booth asked. "Michael Stires?"

Snapping his fingers, Hodgins said, "Yup. That's the one."

"But, you wouldn't call him her boyfriend?"

"No," Hodgins said. "Brennan... well, it's difficult to explain, but she never got a happy or euphoric look whenever Stires came around. They talked a lot, and I know she had a weak spot for him, but I never got a lovey-dovey vibe from them. So, yeah, when she wasn't in the lab, she was usually with him, but no, I don't think they were necessarily hooking up."

"They were here together? You saw him with here here?" Booth asked, in search of clarification. He was slightly surprised by that as none of the case files indicated that Brennan had seen Stires in person after she had moved from Chicago to Washington the prior spring. "In DC?"

Hodgins nodded. "Yeah. I saw him come around the lab to pick her up a lot of times in the months after she started here."

"Really?" Booth asked.

"Yeah," Hodgins confirmed.

"You ever talk with him?" Booth questioned.

"Aside from the occasional 'hello' or 'goodbye'? Hell, no." Shaking his head emphatically, Hodgins said, "No way, man. That guy gave me the creeps. His smile was way too Stepford to be real. I'm not sure what Brennan ever saw in him."

"And, how did that make you feel?" Booth asked.

Laughing, Hodgins said, "Look, man. I know where you're going, but what Dr. B did on her own time was none of my business."

"Why?" Booth asked. "A beautiful, smart young woman like that... by your own admission, you two spent a lot of late night hours alone together working. You really telling me that nothing ever happened between you two?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you," Hodgins said, crossing his arms defiantly.

"Okay," Booth said in a conciliatory tone of voice. "But, if nothing ever happened between you two, I mean, surely, it must have crossed your mind, right? Your personnel record says you're not married—"

"Wait," Hodgins said. "You reviewed my personnel file?"

"Yeah," Booth said. "You got a problem with that?"

Grinning, Hodgins said, "Not in the slightest. Most of the typical standard issue G-men that I've come into contact with over the years haven't even bothered. I'm impressed and flattered that you took the time to do your homework."

"Well, thanks, I think," Booth said. "So... like I was saying, you're not married?"

"No, I'm not. And, I wasn't at the time, and, before you ask, no I didn't have a girlfriend at the time of Brennan's death, either. But, me... and Dr. B? I mean, yeah, she was gorgeous… but, a guy like me and a girl like her? We'd never work. We're too similar. We would have killed each other if we ever tried to hook up. We both knew that, and I much preferred having her in my life as a friend, albeit a casual one, so no, I never even made a move to make a move," Hodgins said.

"So… if you weren't her type… what was?" Booth asked. "I mean, if you had to guess?"

Hodgins considered his words for a second and then said, "Dr. B was a very physical person. I can't say for certain, but I think she liked… good looking guys. On occasion, a few of us from the lab would go out for drinks, and I'd hear her making the occasional comments to one of the other women about some guy they might see. She liked them tall. Dark coloring, usually. Athletic build. And strong personalities. Whether it was in a romantic relationship or not, Brennan didn't like people that she could kick around or browbeat. If she did, if people let her get away with it too much, she knew she couldn't really respect them. So, yeah… I'd say she was into strong men with confident personalities, if I had to guess, you know... even though that's not really something we squints usually do."

"Granted," Booth said. He stopped for a minute and then said, "So, aside from Stires… you can't think of anyone else she might have been seeing by chance, can you?" Booth asked. "Anyone who might've asked her out during one of those rare happy hours?"

"No, not really. I mean…." Hodgins' voice trailed off. Booth waited for the squint to continue. Looking at him, Hodgins took a few seconds before he sighed and said, "Look, I never saw her with anyone. But, before she was killed, I've often thought she started acting a bit funny—" Hodgins said.

Feeling his spider sense tingle, Booth said, "What do you mean 'funny'?"

"Well," Hodgins began. "Dr. B wasn't the most… emotional of people. She wasn't the type of woman that made you think of bunnies and kittens on a first impression. But, about three or four weeks before she died, I had noticed she seemed a bit more…friendlier than I had ever remembered her being. A bit more… open, I guess? She was smiling more than I ever remembered her doing in the entire time since I'd meet her. Dr. B seemed more positive and... less cynical, I would say. Looking back, if it were anyone other than Dr. B, I might even thought she was happy about something, but she wasn't the type of woman that did happy. It was all about logic and rationality for her. She tended to avoid all emotions whenever she could, either good or bad. So, yeah, now that I think about it, I guess you could say that Brennan seemed to be a bit more emotional than I ever remember her being before, and those emotions were-"

"Positive?" Booth offered.

Hodgins shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"Can you think of anything else that sticks out in your mind about anything out of the ordinary in the month or so before she died?" Booth asked.

Hodgins was quiet for a minute, but then said, "Only that about the same time her mood started to change, I know that that Stires guy started coming around less and less. I didn't see him as often."

Nodding, Booth took a card, and handed it to Hodgins. "Thanks. You've been a real big help. If you can ever think of anything else, please let me know. My contact info is on the card."

"Most definitely, dude," Hodgins said, taking the card. "I will definitely do that." Looking from the card back to Booth, Hodgins then asked, "Is this really a direct line to the Hoover Building?"

"Yes," Booth said warily.

"Sweet," Hodgins laughed.

"Why?"

"Men in black suits, dude... you work in the house of MIB. How can having a direct line to a place like that not be cool?" Hodgins laughed.

"Yeah, well, just remember we track and record all incoming calls," Booth said.

"Oh, yeah yeah yeah. I know that already," Hodgins said dismissively.

Shaking his head, Booth turned and left the squint to his microscope. As he walked upstairs from the basement, Booth wasn't quite sure what to make of the situation now, except that he knew a crucial piece of the puzzle surrounding Temperance Brennan's life was still missing. He could sense it was there, just out of reach, and he didn't know how he would get it.

However, Booth did know one thing. If he could solve the riddle of Brennan's mood change, he was willing to bet a hundred bucks he could crack her murder, too. He just had to figure out a place to start looking for the answer, and that was the one thing that left him more bewildered than even before he had started the Jeffersonian interviews. He was missing something all right. Now, Booth just had to find out what that was… and then, then he knew he could *finally* solve the murder that Booth was reluctantly coming to acknowledge might be something of a small obsession to him for reasons that Booth couldn't yet quite understand... or explain.

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	8. Ch 8: The Cards Talk about the Bones

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 8 – The Cards Talk About the Bones<p>

* * *

><p>Booth liked walking in the gardens of the Jeffersonian at both dawn and dusk. There was something about the time when night transitioned to day, and when day gave way to night… well, it just appealed to him. It was a time twice a day when the normal rules didn't apply. Exceptions could and were made. Surprises also had a chance of occurring more frequently a the time of transition. And, so, Booth had taken to enjoying strolls at either dawn or dusk as his schedule allowed. He found the gardens to be one of the more pleasant areas at the Jeffersonian of which few people knew.<p>

On one evening during the following week after he had completed interviewing the requisite Jeffersonian personnel about Temperance Brennan, Booth found himself walking in a part of the gardens usually deserted at that time of day. However, on this evening, the gardens weren't unattended. Booth's interest was raised when he saw a curious looking woman with blonde hair and engaging dark eyes sitting quietly at one of the stone tables. She had a piece of black fabric stretched out in front of her, and her hands moved very fast as she shuffled what appeared to be a deck of cards. The cards enough would have been enough to attract Booth to where she sat, but he then realized he was in the Jeffersonian's gardens, not at a backroom poker game… although, truth to be told, he hadn't really had the time to scratch his itch lately with all the distractions and demands placed on his time by the Brennan case. So, he tried to stay far enough away so that he didn't disturb the woman, but, at the same time, Booth inched closer to see if he could get a better idea about what in the hell she was actually doing.

Walking forward, and trying to steal a glance at what she was doing as much as he could without seeming to obvious or intrusive, Booth watched the woman for several moments from a few feet away. Booth was about to turn and walk away, leaving her to her business, despite how her movements with the cards had mesmerized him, when she called out to him.

"You know, the thing about tarot cards? Most people know what they are, but they don't know squat about what they can actually do."

Booth turned his head in the direction of the voice, and politely responded, "Pardon me?"

Nodding, the woman indicated the cards as she said, "The cards. They're tarot cards, in case you couldn't see. I know you've been watching me for several minutes."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude—"

She waved him off with a smile. "It's okay. You aren't bothering me. But, if you really want to come and see what I'm doing, stop lurking around in the bushes over there and come take a seat."

Reaching down, she re-palmed the stack of cards and began to shuffle. Booth, still intrigued, said, "If you're sure I'm not bothering you?"

"Naaw, you're not bothering me," the woman said. "If anything, maybe you can help give me some focus. I'm not sure why I came here tonight, but I felt a need to be in this specific place at this particular time. I've tried to see if the cards would tell me why, but they're not being as forthcoming as they usually are… especially to me."

Booth watched her shuffle the cards for a couple more minutes and then silently sat down on the bench opposite the side of the table on which she sat. She didn't stop shuffling, but merely nodded her approval at him with a slight smile on her face.

"What do you know about tarot cards?" she asked at last, still shuffling.

"Not a lot. They tell the future, right? Fortune tellers use them, I guess?"

"Yes, and no," she responded. "Tarot is highly misunderstood. The thing that sticks in most peoples' minds are the images of fortune telling and gypsies and all that traditional garbage. The cards are actually much more… complicated than that. You really can't get a 'yes' or a 'no' answer from the deck. And, anyone who tells you differently is full of crap."

"Okay," Booth said. "Then, tell me how it really works."

"Well, you concentrate on an issue. The more specific it is, the better. Not so much a question, but a topic that you want advice on… sometimes the cards only tell you what you already know, and on rare occasions, you'll get an idea of where things might be going. All of it is supposed to be counsel, not specific instructions that tell you what to do because the future, all of it can change in a heartbeat. The future... time in general, is fluid like that. It's a living and breathing thing... and the cards help you get a better idea of what's going on… but not 'yes' and 'no' answers. It's never black or white… but a whole lotta greys all mixed around together. Sometimes things are a little lighter, sometimes they're a little darker, but everything balances eventually," she said.

Booth contemplated her words and then said, "Wow. That does seem more…complex than I thought."

"Aren't things always like that though?" she asked. Setting the cards down on the fabric, which Booth now saw to be a swath of black velvet, the woman extended a hand. It jingled as her charm bracelet slid down her wrist. "My name's Avalon."

"Booth," he said, taking her hand and shaking it firmly.

Avalon smiled at the gesture. "You're very sure of yourself, aren't you?"

"You can tell that simply by touching my palm once?" Booth chuckled.

"Nope," Avalon said. "You've just got a very firm handshake."

At this, Booth laughed out loud.

Nodding at the cards, Avalon then said, "You're curious, aren't you?"

"I'm always curious about a lot of stuff, but if you mean the cards… they're… interesting," Booth conceded.

Pushing the deck towards him, she inclined her head. "Why don't you cut the deck?"

"Okay," Booth said, as reached forward and cut the deck. Looking at her, he said, "So, what are you going to tell me… where I've been… or where I'm going?"

"Maybe only where you are right now," Avalon said. "Let's find out, huh?"

Turning over the first card, she nodded. "The Queen of Cups. It's in the element water. She's a counselor, very in touch with dreams and the spirit world. She conveys the idea that you should rely more on intuition than on fact, particularly in matters related to the unknown. In a nutshell, you're on the right track if... when you're not certain about something, you should have some faith in yourself and go with whatever you're gut's telling you. That's always the safest course of action. Best one, usually, too."

Reaching down, she flipped over a second card. "Knight of Pentacles. A second face card. Masculine energy, obviously. The Knight of Pentacles is dedicated, strong, and a hard worker. He's persistent, and will always do what needs to be done, but gets caught up sometimes in his comfort zone. He doesn't like change, and much prefers to be in control than out of it. He doesn't mind doing extra work, if it allows him the ability to regulate how much is changing when and how."

Booth arched an eyebrow, but said nothing as she flipped over a third card.

"The Queen of Swords," Avalon said. "A third personality. Now, this card is interesting because, although it's got a feminine energy attached to it, you've also got strong male energies fighting the female at the same time. It's a very equitable card. So, this personality, she's someone who is extremely intelligent, sees things for exactly what they are, but the way she uses truth as a tool that tends to isolate her. She has an extremely demanding set of standards that most people can't live up to, leaving her alone."

"So," Booth said, pointing to these cards. "The Queen of Cups meets the Knight of Pentacles and turns into the Queen of Swords?"

"No," Avalon laughed. "I'm not quite sure what's going on here, but that's not how it works. I really should have had you focus on an issue like I told you about, so these cards may be a bit wonky in what they're coming up with… let's see what else there is, and maybe I can make some sense of it."

Turning over a fourth card, she said, "Three of Wands. Ahh, now that makes a bit of sense. The Three of Wands represents partnership. You see the solitary man there? He's traveled very far up the mountain on a very long journey. But, now at the top of the mountain, he's taken the higher ground, and simply has to wait for the fruition of his labors while others move to join him at long last. He's traveled a long way by himself, but in the end, the significance of the journey is what it allows him to finally achieve."

"Meaning?" Booth asked.

Arching an eyebrow, Avalon said, "Give me a second. I'm not quite ready to answer that question yet."

Reaching for the next card, she took a quick breath as she said turned over the Wheel of Fortune. "Wow. That's interesting," Avalon said. Booth looked at her in clear confusion, so she clarified. "The traditional tarot deck has 22 cards in the Major Arcana and 56 cards in the Minor Arcana. Any time you turn up a Minor Arcana card, you're getting information about more mundane day-to-day issues. Things much more easily susceptible to change, you know? It's small scale in focus. But, when a Major Arcana card comes up? Well, then you know you really need to pay attention. The Major Arcana cards deal with some serious stuff, big picture type things. And, this card? The Wheel of Fortune? Well, it suddenly gives me a whole new perspective on what I think might be going on here."

"So, you can tell me what this means now?" Booth replied.

"I can try," Avalon said. "Obviously, you're the unifying theme of this spread. If I had to guess, I would say the Knight of Pentacles is you. You've got a lot of potential, but can't actualize it without your other half. You've been doing the best you can, but you've gotten side tracked because there's someone missing from you life. A woman. She's the partner you're looking for on the journey that you've already started. Whatever's happening in your life right now, you're being helped along your way by many different people from lots of different stations and situations in life. But, ultimately, it's your journey to make, and yours alone. The Wheel of Fortune card, here? Well, that means this ain't your normal little journey of self-discovery. This isn't like where you suddenly realize that you're having a mid-life crisis and decide to go back to school at 40 and get a degree in art history to replace the one in accounting that you got at 20 because you thought you'd make more money. This is the type of journey that will set your life on a certain path for many years to come. Whatever's going on, Booth? Well, your life is at a fork in the road, and the fork in the road is related to your destiny. Things are still in motion, though, so it's not clear how things are going to turn out."

"Okay," Booth said. "What else?"

"Hmmm," Avalon said. She turned over another card. "Death."

Booth nodded at her, a smile still on his face. "So, this journey is going to lead to my death?"

"Why does everyone always think that? Death in the cards very rarely means actual physical death. So, no. You're not going to die. Coming after the Wheel of Fortune, Death here means that your journey is a transition in your transformation. What you were when you started out won't be the same as how you're going to end up," Avalon said. She reached for another card and then frowned. "Of course. It's the Three of Swords. Not that this is any surprise, but the journey you're on? The one that's making this transition? It's be painful, and if it hasn't already, compared with where you'll be at the end of this thing, your life has sucked. Quite frankly, this card? It means pain. Rejection, sadness, separation, and loneliness have given you a chance to grow, but the going through it really sucks because it's such a crappy process by its very nature."

"Is that it?" Booth asked.

"No," Avalon said. "Usually, in a spread like this, I'd draw ten cards. So, far that's only seven."

"Okay," Booth said. "Keep dazzling me."

"Lucky number eight is… the Devil," Avalon said. She stopped, looked at Booth and said, "I don't know what in the hell is going on in your life right now. But, whatever it is? It's big. That makes three Major Arcana cards, and I've still got two more to draw."

"And, so the Devil means evil is playing a part in my journey?" Booth asked.

"Hey," Avalon said. "That's not bad for a newbie. Why'd you say that?"

"Years of Catholic schooling drive one thing consistently home… where ever the Devil is, evil isn't far away," Booth said.

"True, sometimes, I suppose," Avalon conceded. "But, in this case, I think it's more a warning. I mean, it's possible that you might encounter evil on this journey. But, I think it's more likely that whatever this journey or transition is, you're going to be tempted while it's happening. And, if you aren't careful, that temptation could have the power to utterly destroy you from the inside out. As long as you're aware of it, though, you'll come out better for it at the end."

"And, what's at the end?"

"The cards say… the Ace of Cups. The Ace is the start of a Minor Arcana suit. It always represents new beginnings. The good news here is that after all the horrible crap you're going to go through, or already have been coming through, if you stay true to yourself and keep the faith, you'll have the opportunity for something new at the end. With your potential truly realized, you'll have the chance to find true love and happiness. You've got to nurture the seed that's been planted, but the opportunity is there."

At this, Booth laughed. "I knew it. The love of my life was going to make an appearance at some point. Isn't that what always happens here?"

"Hardee har har," Avalon said. "And, no, it doesn't. I'm just telling you what the cards are telling me."

"So, last but not least?" Booth asked.

"Last, but not least is… the Star. Oh, that's good," Avalon said thoughtfully.

"Why? Another sign that my journey is divinely inspired?" Booth chuckled.

"Smart ass," Avalon said with a shake of her head. "No. It's a positive card. It means that no matter how things turn out, as long as you keep your faith true, hope will always be there."

"Hope for what?" Booth questioned.

"I dunno," Avalon said. Pointing at the first card, she said, "If I'm right, and I think I am, I'm only here to give you what counsel I can from the great beyond. Counsel, as in advice, not predictions of fake fairytale endings and untrue promises of what won't ever happen."

"Okay," Booth said. "Fair enough."

Nodding at the cards, Avalon said, "It's a very interesting spread. If I had been told about this before, I would have been wrong about one thing, though."

"And, what's that?" Booth asked.

"The lack of female energy here… it's surprising given what the rest of this spread says. I mean, yeah, it's there. But, it's awful faint. Distant even. I would have thought given the emphasis on love and fate and partnerships, there would have been something more direct here… a more strongly feminine presence in the cards, you know? Something like the Lovers… or the Three of Cups… or even the Temperance card. But, none of that's here."

Suddenly, Booth stiffened a bit, and said, "Why would you expect that?"

"Just a feeling," Avalon said with a shrug. She then stopped and then said, "Wait. You aren't gay, are you?"

"No!" Booth said. He tempered his response and then said sheepishly, "Not that there's anything wrong with that. But, I like girls." He stopped and then said, "Why would you ask me that?"

"Well, like I said, you've got a reading here about love and fate and partners, but while the feminine energy is there, it's fading fast. If you were into guys, that would explain some of the mixed signals. But, since you're not-"

"Definitely *not*," Booth emphasized.

"-then, it almost makes me wonder if that's a sign in and of itself. Like… maybe you're running out of time?" Avalon mused.

"Time?" Booth asked slightly alarmed... and suddenly worried.

"Yeah," Avalon said definitively. "I'm not sure what else I can tell you aside from this, Booth. And, I would say... purely on a gut instinct, you understand?"

Booth nodded. "I love gut instincts, so go with it."

"Okay," Avalon said. "Like I said, I can't say for certain, but whatever's happening to you, Booth? It's already started. You may not even realize it yet, but something's started, probably's been going on for a while now… and you are seriously running out of time."

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	9. Ch 9: The Tissue of the Bones

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 9 – The Tissue of the Bones Finally Gives up a Secret<p>

* * *

><p>Dr. Camille Saroyan didn't often yelp in her lab. She was from the Bronx. As such, other New Yorkers knew that the location of her hometown meant that if someone from the Bronx was yelping, then there had to be a damn good reason why. As soon as her startled voice had shattered the normal professional solemnity of the lab, it caught someone's attention. Immediately, a figure that was walking by Camille's autopsy suite stopped when he heard her cry out, spun on his sneakers, and walked in, concern clearly evident on his face.<p>

"Dr. Saroyan?"

Her flushed face darting back and forth from the source of her interruption to the results on her computer screen finally processed enough of the information that she was seeing to allow her to speak. "Uh, Mr. Edison." Nodding at Ian Wexler's assistant, she watched as he watched at her with a look of worry still evident on his face.

"You okay, Dr. Saroyan?" Edison asked. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude or pry… and, Dr. Wexler would probably say that it's my normal impertinence shining through, but I thought I heard you yell—"

"I did," Cam said, with a reassuring nod. "And, I'm okay. I apologize if I startled you. I just... I was surprised by something." Cam stopped and then shook her head. "No, surprise isn't the right word. I was caught off guard. And, since I'm never caught off guard, it was just a bit disconcerting."

"Oh, all right, then," Edison said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Well, please forgive me for disturbing you."

Edison turned to leave and only stopped when Cam called out to him again.

"Mr. Edison?"

"Yes, Dr. Saroyan?"

"I know-" Cam began tentatively. "I know that osteology is the focus of your dissertation work with Dr. Wexler, but I'm wondering… were you any good at your organic chemistry?"

"As it relates to anatomy and physiology?" Edison asked. "It was my second best subject and one of the reasons why I always wanted to do my internship here at the Jeffersonian. This is really the only place I ever saw myself doing my post-doc work. I was really happy when Dr. Wexler had the intern opening and agreed to take me on, but between you and me, Genghis Khan could have been looking for an assistant, and as long as he was employed by the Jeffersonian I would have probably gone after the job. But, anyway... yes, I'm pretty good an organic chemistry. Why?"

"It may not make any sense to you, but would you mind taking a look at this portion of the pathology report I have up on my computer screen here, and tell me what it means to you, if anything?" Cam asked. "I need a second opinion."

Nodding, Edison took a step towards the computer. "Sure."

Cam moved over and let Clark get better direct access to the screen. He took about five minutes to scroll and re-scroll through the portion of the lab report Cam had indicated he should look at before he sighed and turned back to face her. She watched him with an expectant look in her eye, encouraging him to speak, but remained quiet.

Clark nodded, and arched an eyebrow before he spoke. "Now, I think it's only fair that I preface what I'm about to say that I may be a bit rusty…"

"Duly noted."

"So, if I screw up, you won't tell Dr. Wexler, will you?" Edison asked.

Cam shook her head. "Not at all. This isn't a random quiz, Mr. Edison, I promise. It's just… I need to see what the report tells an objective pair of eyes."

"Okay," Edison said. "Fair enough."

He took a breath and then moved the mouse to a certain statistical breakdown in the report. Freezing the screen on that particular section of the findings, Clark blew it up and placed it on the larger overhead screen. Standing, he gestured with his hand at a certain cluster of numbers. Cam felt her stomach tighten in anticipation as she realized that Clark had focused in on the exact same anomaly that she had finally noticed when she had gone back to reading the latest round of test results. However, Cam remained quite as Clark began his explanation of how he interpreted the reports so as not to prejudice his opinion.

"So, most of this looks pretty standard, nothing out of the ordinary... until you get to *this* part here. This is the part of the report that caught my attention," Clark began, pointing. "Your profile indicates this pathology report was from a Caucasian female, early-to-mid twenties. For that set of variables, if you look at the chemical break down percentages of the oleic acids, they're at much higher levels than I recall being normal for a female within that age bracket at TOD." Scrolling down a couple of lines, Clark then pointed to another grouping of numbers within the report. "At the same time, the levels of miristic acid and stearic acid are far lower than they really should be. Now, like I said, I'm a bit rusty, but I can only remember one explanation corresponding to these variation levels in a cervical fluid sample's fatty acid content. Whoever this sample came from, she was pregnant at the time of death."

Her lips pursing, Cam shook her head once as she said, "Damn."

"What?" Clark said, suddenly concerned. "Am I wrong?"

"Nope," Cam said, reaching into her pocket and grabbing her cell phone. "That's exactly what I thought, too."

"Then," Edison said, the confusion still evident on his face. "If you don't mind me asking, what's the problem, Dr. Saroyan?"

"There's no problem, Mr. Edison," Cam said, as she hit the speed dial on her phone. As she continued to let it ring, and cursed when it went to voice mail, she hung up and immediately dialed another number. Nodding at Clark as she waited for the second call to go through, Cam said, "I think we just may have found a possible motive for murder."

At last, on the fourth ring, Cam felt a frisson of excitement go through her when the phone was answered. "Yeah, hey, it's Cam. Do you know where Sully is? He's not answering his phone, Booth, and I need the two of you to get over here to the Jeffersonian ASAP. I think we just got a break in the Brennan murder."

Edison continued to watch Cam as she talked on the phone for a couple more minutes. When she hung up, she smiled a truly rare smile at Clark and said, "Well done, Mr. Edison. Well done."

"Oh," Edison said, now beaming himself. "In that case… do you think you could tell Dr. Wexler, after all?"

Nodding, Cam began to walk out of her office and gestured to Edison to follow as she said, "We'll do it right now. He's going to be pea green with envy when he finds out the points on this round go to the flesh people, not the bones people… and it's all thanks, in part, to your efforts Mr. Edison."

Processing his words, Edison wasn't sure whether to continue smiling or to start crying at Cam's pronouncement.

* * *

><p>Less than a half-hour later, Sully and Booth sat upstairs in the lounge of the Jeffersonian's Medico-Legal Lab. Ian and Cam were passing around sheets of information while Ian's assistant, Clark Edison, stood quietly in the background trying not to be any more impertinent than he had already been deemed by Dr. Wexler when Cam had told him about the young man's help in interpreting the pathology report.<p>

Sighing, Sully set down the report and began to rub the bridge of his nose. Cam looked on in confusion as she said, "What's wrong, Sully? Isn't this good news? It gives us a possible motive for the murder and confirmation that the original autopsy missed at least something… but probably a whole lot more."

Nodding, Sully said, "Oh, yeah. From that standpoint, it's going to make Caroline very happy when she gets here. But, from another standpoint, this just got a whole lot more complicated."

"Why?" Wexler asked.

Sully paused and then pointed to the file folder that had Brennan's photograph paper clipped to the outside of it. "If she was pregnant at the time she was murdered, that means that yes, we do have a possible motive. But, it's also a very bad thing because it means that A.) we are missing a key individual of great importance in Dr. Brennan's life that no one seemed to know anything about because I think we'd all agree she's not the type that would just end up knocked up by some random dude and B.) it means her death was probably unrelated to the other murders."

"But, what about the aberrations in Brennan's first autopsy report? Wexler asked. "What could account for those if this really is just a random homicide?"

"I didn't say it was random," Sully answered. "Just unconnected to the DOJ investigation. Maybe it really just a shoddy case of the ME being sloppy. After all, you did say that you kind of stumbled on that yourself, right, Cam?"

Cam nodded. "It was really only by accident that I looked at the fatty acids of her cervical fluid, so it's possible."

"Well, if someone as good as Cam almost missed it, that does lend some credence to the sloppy theory," Sully said. "In either case, Caroline is not going to be happy. Considering the fact that was the main reason Caroline got the judge to sign the exhumation order was on that supposition, we now are back to square one on the Harper case. And, we now also have a complicated mess with Brennan's murder." Looking up at Booth, who had been unusually quiet during the conversation, Sully said, "Booth?"

"Yeah, Sul?" Booth responded, without tearing his gaze from the pathology report.

"This means you're going to have to speed up the witnesses interviews ASAP. I'm going to need you in Chicago like… yesterday," Sully said.

Booth mutely nodded as the calm of the room suddenly shattered when Caroline Julian's booming presence came into the lounge. She surveyed the room once, and then focused on Cam. Pointing, she said, "Cherie, I've heard you have news for me. In the best non-squint language you can use, explain."

"Chemical tests on some of Temperance Brennan's bodily fluids revealed something her first autopsy missed," Cam said.

"Hallelujah!" Caroline said. "What?"

"She was pregnant at the time she was murdered," Cam said.

Immediately, Caroline's face fell as she muttered, "Oh, damn." She paused for a minute, then said to Cam, "What else?"

"We're still working on the COD," Cam said. "But—"

"But," Ian chimed in. "But, I can confirm now, however Dr. Brennan died, it wasn't from a gunshot wound. There was no evidence that she was even alive when someone pointed that .22 at her head and fired. The evidence in her skull don't show the pattern that would be there from the point of view of how blood should have started to taint the osteological cells of her cranium if she had been alive when she was shot. The .22 was inflicted postmortem."

Sighing, Caroline said, "Okay. Okay. Let me think for a moment."

She glanced at Booth, then at Sully, and back at Cam and Ian. She was quiet for a minute before she said, "Who else knows about this but us?"

"No one," Cam said. "Mr. Edison was with me when we made the discovery. After that, I called Sully and Booth first, told Ian second, and we called you third."

"You have a serious problem with the hierarchy of importance that scenario implies regarding where you place my prominence, cher, but we'll discuss that at another time," Caroline said.

Cam smiled weakly.

Another thought suddenly occurred to Caroline as she said, "How far along was the good doctor when she was murdered?"

Cam shrugged. "It's really hard to tell given the advanced state of decomp the remains were in when we started to take samples for testing, but I've checked with Ian and Clark on the shifting of her pelvic bones. There's no way she could have been past her first trimester. I would say, and this is just a guess, but she was probably a month in… maybe six or seven weeks. No more. Probably less. Hell, *she* may not have even known she was pregnant at the time of her death."

"So," Caroline said. "That means there isn't going to be enough DNA in the fetal bones to be nice to us and give us a potential daddy who had a motive to kill the lovely doctor?"

Cam shook her head.

"Figures," Caroline said with a sigh. She was quiet for another minute and then said, "All right, people. I did not hear most of what was just said. Particularly the part about the pregnancy or the postmortem .22 gun shot."

"What?" three voices chimed in surprise. Only Booth remained quiet, as he stared at Caroline with a knowing look.

"Booth," Caroline said. "I expect that you have a flight to Chicago to catch. When you get there, try not to arrest the bastard until you've locked down as much evidence as possible and are certain it's him. Right now, we have the advantage since he doesn't even know he's a suspect, and I do not want to waste that opportunity. I will be seriously displeased if I find out that you mucked this up because you've got an itchy trigger finger, Booth. Now, get going. Sully will drive you."

Nodding, Booth stood and walked out.

Cam, Ian, and Sully, knowing they were missing something, but weren't quite certain what, continued to stare at Caroline. At last, she waved them off as she said, "If we let any of that information be known, the Bureau will immediately demote the Brennan case in priority level of importance. As long as its investigation is still connected to the Gus Harper homicide, I can buy you squints and squint-whisperers some more time to finish solving Brennan's murder."

She stopped, pointed at Sully as comprehension dawned and said, "You. You're doing more than just driving Booth to the airport. I'm not sure what's going on with your partner, cherie, but he needs to be watched. He did not say more than three words during this entire briefing, and the Seeley Booth I know does *not* do that. You're going to Chicago with him. Do what you need to do. He's fairly certain he knows who did in the lovely squint from what he told me earlier. I can't say I disagree, since he was really the only logical suspect if this case wasn't connected to something bigger. We just didn't have a clear motive before now as to why he might have done it, aside from the Foundation's money, which was always really too flimsy by itself. So, stick to your partner like you're his new shadow. Follow Booth. Poke around. Keep both your eyes open. And, make certain Booth doesn't shoot anyone unless he really has to, okay?"

Sully nodded. He stood and said, "Ummm, Caroline, what about the case here?"

Waving him off, Caroline said, "Just make sure whomever you appoint as your temporary replacement has the ability not to piss me off and can take orders until you get back. Now, off you go, cher."

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	10. Ch 10: The Father of the Bones

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 10 – The Father of the Bones Reveals Himself<p>

* * *

><p>Pregnant.<p>

Pregnant?

She had been pregnant.

She had been *pregnant* when someone murdered her.

The more that Booth thought about it, the more he spent going back and forth between feeling supreme anger at the violence inflicted on Brennan and her innocent, unborn child… and confusion.

Pregnant?

Many of the following hours after he left the Jeffersonian, and completed the necessary preparations to fly to Chicago, had been spent in a blur for Booth. He made plane, hotel, and rental car reservations. He talked to Sully and other personnel at the Hoover as they made arrangements to compensate for the expected absences. However, most of the time, while one part of his brain focused on such mundane tasks, the other part of Booth's mind continued to wrestle with the implications of Cam's discovery.

Dr. Temperance Brennan had been *pregnant* when she died.

Pregnant.

The thought rattled his brain. How could she have been pregnant? Everything he had come to know about this woman screamed that such a likelihood was almost impossible. If any other person that Cam had made the discovery, Booth would have bet his salary for the month of August that a mistake had been made. But, Cam… she was good. No, she wasn't just good. She was the *best*. And, Cam… she didn't make *those* kinds of mistakes. So, Temperance Brennan was definitely pregnant when she died.

Pregnant.

Eventually, still on autopilot, on his way back to his apartment to pack, Booth found himself taking a slight detour as the Sequoia seemed to be navigating itself without his knowledge or volition. When he finally pulled into a parking space, Booth was only mildly surprised to find himself once again at St. Augustine's Seminary. Shaking his head, Booth put the SUV in park, turned off the engine, and removed his keys. A few moments later, Booth found himself sitting back on a familiar bench in front of the Virgin Mary. He said a couple of prayers out of habit, offering a Hail Mary in memory of not only Brennan's soul, but also that of her unborn child. Booth was still praying when the soft sounds of approaching footsteps gained his attention. Half-glancing up from where he had bent his head in prayer, Booth thought he saw a flash of something... familiar?

The image that his eyes relayed to his brain had registered a brief glimpse of the person who was approaching the grotto, and that person was a woman, with dark hair, and wearing a light, cream colored dress. His head jerking back up, Booth's brow furrowed in confusion when he looked at the spot where he thought he had seen the woman and nothing was there. Shaking his head, despite the fact that all his senses and training told him he definitely *had* seen someone... and the little hairs on the back of his neck seemed to confirm that assumption, logic told Booth that no one was there. Re-centering his focus on the statue of the Virgin Mary, Booth resumed praying. This time, a few moments later, he was keenly aware of the definite change in his surroundings as the earlier footsteps returned. However, this time was different as they became louder. Tensing his body, Booth remained sitting, not sure what he would do if the same thing happened again. Yes, this case had become a bit of a personal project for him, but Booth didn't want to think it was causing him to crack up. However, as another person entered the grotto, Booth sighed a breath of relief when the image didn't disappear at second glance. Booth couldn't help as he looked up and smiled when he recognized Father Coulter walking towards him with a half-wave.

"Good evening, Father," Booth said.

Nodding, Coulter took a step forward. "I'm sorry if I interrupted you, Mr. Booth."

"You remember me?" Booth said, surprised.

Smiling, Coulter nodded. "Besides the fact that I have a very good memory, as sad as you looked the last time you were here? Well, that sadness is the kind of thing that's hard to forget for a guy in my line of work."

Gesturing to the bench on which he sat, Booth said, "You're not interrupting me, by the way. If you have a minute, please take a seat, Father."

"Okay," Coulter said. Sitting down next to Booth, the older man watched the younger man in silence for a couple of moments before he tentatively asked, "I like coming here to think, too. I always try to spend some time thinking about things, meditating sort of, you know? I'm not the grotto's guard, if that's what you thought. I just... I like coming here."

"It's a nice place to think," Booth agreed. "I'm not sure why I ended up here today myself, but whatever works, right?"

The priest nodded. Silence filled the space between them for a few more moments before Coulter looked at Booth and said, "So, did you ever talk to that girl of yours?"

Booth slowly nodded his head as he said, "Yeah. I did."

"And, how'd that go?" Coulter asked.

"Not so good," Booth said. "Things are just… even *more* confusing now then they were before I started talking to her. I'm... I'm not sure I'm going to do... hell, what I'm even able to do about it. So, yeah, like I said, it's just really confusing... the whole thing."

"Well, women are like that sometimes," Coulter said. "I remember… my wife, God rest her soul, I loved her more than life itself, but she could try Jesus' patience."

"You were married?" Booth asked curiously.

"Yup," Coulter said. "Almost twenty-two years before she died."

"So, you entered the priesthood after she passed on?" Booth asked.

Coulter eyed him for a minute before he said, "You could say that." He paused, looked away and then shook his head before continuing. "There's not a day that goes by that I don't miss her. She… she didn't deserve what happened to her. Me? I've sinned so much in this world, God could throw the kitchen sink at me and everything in-between, and it wouldn't be retribution enough to balance the scales for the life I've led. But, her? No… she didn't deserve it. She was a pure and innocent soul. A good woman. I never really figured out what I did to deserve her, and I'm more grateful than I can ever say for the time we had together. But, she... she deserved more than she got... and so did our daughter."

Feeling the shift of intensity between them at the priest's words, Booth looked up at him and said, "If you don't mind me asking, Father… what happened to them?" Booth imagined some type of tragic story like a car crash or some other sad accident. However, he was more than somewhat surprised at Coulter's response.

"They were both murdered," he said simply. "They were killed… and there was nothing I could do to prevent either's death." His voice becoming slightly thick with emotion, Coulter said softly, "I blame myself for that, you know? If I couldn't protect Christine, I should have been at least able to look after her daughter. But, I didn't. I messed that up, too. I'm surprised by that, you know? I thought, when our daughter died, that she would start haunting me if ghosts were real. At least, then, I might be able to deal with some of this guilt I've been carrying around since our little girl was murdered. But, no... it's just me... and my guilt, and my memories, and God. Like I said, she never should have died. I should have been able to do *something* to keep her safe. But, I didn't... couldn't... and, I'm haunted by that every single day of my life."

Booth knew a guilty confession when he heard one. He looked at the priest and said, "I'm sure it wasn't your fault, Father Coulter. You weren't responsible for their deaths."

"I should have been able to protect them," Coulter repeated. "You know what that's like? Loving someone so much that you'd die to protect them and then finding out that you never even had a chance to make that sacrifice?"

Briefly, Booth's mind flashed to Parker. "I have a son," he said at last. He's four, almost five-years old. I don't see him as much as I'd like to because his mom and I... our relationship? It went bad when he was a baby. And... well, not to put too fine a point on it, but sometimes I don't think his mother trusts me with him. I've had some... issues in the past, stuff to deal with, you know? I've had issues..."

Booth stopped, and his voice trailed off. He could feel the priest's heavy gaze fall on him. For some reason, and Booth didn't know why - maybe it was because he hadn't been to confession in such a long time? - but he felt a need to be fully honest with the older man. He took a breath and continued.

"I've... sometimes I get really distracted. And, in the past... sometimes I've had some issues with gambling, and Rebecca, well, she's never fully trusted me with him because of that. I've never done anything to hurt him, but she... at times, I have to stay away from him for his own good. Sometimes it'll be weeks in between when I can see him, but I think about him all the time. I-I… I'd do anything to protect him. I'd die to keep him safe. Hell, I wouldn't think twice if I had to kill someone to keep him safe. I'd do whatever I had to do to keep anyone or anything from hurting him, so yeah, Father, I'm not certain 100% since I've never lost someone like you have, but I do think know what you mean."

"Loving someone like that," Coulter said. "It's rare. But, when it happens… it's a gift, a miracle really." He stopped and then his blue eyes met Booth's brown ones directly. "Do you believe in fate, Agent Booth?"

"Yes, I do," Booth said. "Absolutely."

"It was a mistake, you know," Coulter said.

His eyebrows narrowing and his voice deepening a bit as Booth processed the meaning of the older man's words, he responded, "*What* was a mistake… and how do you know that I'm an agent?"

"I know a lot about you," Coulter said candidly, his demeanor changing a bit. "Ever since that day you showed up here, and we talked. Okay, I've been watching you for a while and didn't know *everything* about you. But, after our last conversation, let's just say, I made it a priority to get to know what I could about you. Maybe we can just skip over the whys and hows and all that crap, okay?"

Standing, Booth's body tensed as he said, "Who are you?"

"Someone who knows that his little girl wasn't supposed to die when she did. It was a mistake. I know it as honestly and truly as I know that the sun will come up in the morning, the moon will rise at night, the sky is blue, the grass is green… and that real love? True love? The kind of love that only exists between soul mates? That's the only type of love worth having, really. It's a miracle. And, knowing all that, I know, Tempe wasn't supposed to die when she did." came the response.

"You're Matthew Brennan?" Booth asked slowly.

Shrugging, he said, "Among other names."

"What do you want from me?" Booth said.

"What I want from you, I don't know if you can give me," the priest responded.

"And, what is that?" Booth replied.

"I want my daughter back," he said evenly. "I want her back, alive and happy and living the life she was supposed to have. I want her making those mind-blowing discoveries that she would have made, I want her falling in love with the man she was supposed to share the rest of her life with, experiencing something akin to what I shared with her mother. I want to see her get married and have a family. I want to hold my grandchildren while she chides me for spoiling them. I want a chance to get to know her again, and for her to know me, and to apologize for how shitty I made her life when she was a teenager. I want to have the opportunity to make amends to her for leaving her because we didn't have any other choice. But, mostly I want to stop grieving the loss of a child that wasn't supposed to happen, but did. It's a horrible thing when a parent has to bury his daughter, Agent Booth. And, I want all that to go away. *That's* what I want, Agent Booth. But, like I said, I'm not sure how you can make that happen, even if you wanted to…."

"Do you know who murdered your daughter, Mr. Brennan?" Booth asked.

"No," he responded. "I don't. I… I tried to keep track of Tempe as best I could over the years, but she always did better when I wasn't around then if I was. I… I thought once she had started to get settled in DC, things would be okay for a while. I had left to check on her brother, Russ. He's… he's always needed me more than she ever did. Tempe did better when I was gone, but Russ always did worse for some reason."

"And, do you know where your son is right now?" Booth asked.

"I do," came the answer. "But, I think you can read me well enough to know that I'm telling the truth when I say that Russ doesn't know anything more about who killed Tempe than I do. The only thing he knows is that he lost his sister, grieves his sister's death, and still mourns her loss."

"Tempe?" Booth said, strangely testing the foreign word out on his tongue. "Is that what you called her?"

The older man nodded. "I don't think she particularly liked it, but she didn't mind either. Most of us... Christine, Russ, and I called her 'Tempe'. And, a few of her closer friends. Since she was a little girl. 'Temperance' was just too formal sometimes... even for someone as serious as she was."

Booth nodded. He stopped for a moment, and then looked at Brennan's father again. "She—" Booth felt the words catch in his throat as he said quietly. "When she was killed, Mr. Brennan? Dr. Brennan… she was—"

"What?" came the sharp retort. "What was she?"

"She was pregnant," Booth said. "Did… did you know that?"

The look on the older man's face made it clear to Booth that he hadn't had any knowledge of his daughter's condition at the time she was murdered. It seemed to Booth as if the older man had just been punched in the stomach. A look of physical pain shone clearly on the older man's face as his mouth moved, but no sounds came out. Looking away, he finally managed a clipped question. "You're sure about that?"

Sighing, Booth said quietly, "Yeah, we're sure."

His head suddenly snapping to look at Booth, the younger man saw an all too familiar emotion glinting in the older man's eyes. Rage. It was pure, unadulterated rage.

"No, I didn't know," he said at last.

"Who was she seeing?" Booth said. "You're daughter, from everything that I've come to know about her, doesn't seem like the type of girl who would play Russian roulette with her ovaries."

At that, the priest barked a sardonic laugh. Shaking his head, he said, "Tempe… she never did *anything* without knowing exactly what she was doing… and what any potential consequences might be. If Tempe was pregnant, it was because she either wanted to be, or, at the very least, she was having sex with someone who she didn't mind the possibility of having a child with…."

"I need to know who that person might be," Booth said. "The pregnancy… it's the only thing we've found that might give us a potential motive for her murder."

"There's only one person that I know my daughter could even possibly have known… in *that* way. Tempe… she… she didn't form attachments or emotional relationships all that easily and so never really dated a lot when she was growing up. I suppose that's my fault, but that's another story for another time. The only person I know that might have ever knew my daughter… like *that*… was someone at Northwestern," the priest replied.

"You have a name," Booth said, a statement, not a question.

"Yeah, I do," came the response. "And, if what you're telling me is true, you sure as hell better make sure you can get to him before I do, because I will murder that son-of-a-bitch where he stands as soon as I can find him. I've spent six years spending half my time trying to figure out who killed her so I could make things even and the other half of the time praying to God for help when I keep running into one dead end after another. I've always hated that guy, but I could never know for certain, and I couldn't... make things right, not unless I knew for sure. But, I do know, in one way or another, he always was going to hurt my daughter. I think a part of him got off on the idea of making a strong woman like Tempe bend to his will. He wanted to hurt her, and from what you're telling me, he finally did."

"We don't know that for certain," Booth said, really, really hoping it was just the anger he knew Brennan's father felt about the news that he had lost more than just a daughter in 1998. Booth didn't want to have to arrest then man. He kinda liked him for some reason besides the fact that he was Brennan's father. "When we originally began the new investigation into your daughter's death it was to look into a DOJ case about an FBI agent shot in the 1970s. Now, it's never really been made clear to me what the connection between that agent and your daughter was, but-"

"Caroline was wrong about that one," came the answer. "I know it doesn't happen often, but Tempe's death had nothing to do with Gus Harper's murder. And, I could have told her that if she asked me."

"How do you know about Gus Harper?" Booth asked, suspicion now edging his voice that he knew most often was heard only in the confines of an interrogation room.

Waving his hand, Brennan's father said, "Like I said, kid, I know a lot of stuff about a lot of things. And, I've spent a lot of time since you last came here figuring out what in the hell's been going on... I don't think it's coincidence that you stumbled into this place at this time when I was here and started talking to me about my own daughter. Do you?"

"No," Booth said. "That's a bit too much to be coincidental in my opinion."

"Yeah. I thought so, too. So, like I said, I'm the type of guy who knows a lot of different things about a lot of different people. I'm kinda like Caroline Julian, on that one. Now, I don't think she's kept you in the dark about it on purpose, because this stuff has just always been more on a need-to-know basis, if you get my drift?"

"What stuff?" Booth asked again.

Sighing, the older man said, "Look, if you're really interested, go back to your cubby hole and look at the Task Force of which Harper was apart in the early 70s. Caroline knows about it. You can ask her, if you want. The names Columbus and Fremont will mean something to you as far as explaining why Caroline thinks there may have been a connection between Tempe and Harper's murders, but that's not what this is about."

"Then, tell me what it's about," Booth said.

"Where were you in 1998, Agent Booth? Out of curiosity?" Brennan's father asked.

Caught off guard by the question, Booth shrugged. "I, ah, was mostly living in Georgia at the time. I was in the Army Rangers and stationed at Fort Benning."

"The whole year?" came the next question.

"No," Booth said. "My regiment was deployed to Kosovo in the spring of 99. Beginning in December 98, I was transferred to a base in Germany in anticipation of the deployment."

"That's a long time to spend in Germany cooling your heels for a war that didn't officially start under UN auspices until late March of 1999," the older man responded.

"Yeah, well, I was special ops. We didn't exactly do things... normally, as compared with other units," Booth said.

"So, you lived in Georgia and Germany-"

"Well, no," Booth said. "I mean, yeah, mostly. But, before I went on active deployment in December, I had a thirty-day leave that I took."

"Isn't that kind of an odd that you should remember that right off the top of your head like that?"

"Yeah, well, I met my son's mother on that leave, so it's the kind of thing that's hard to forget, if you know what I mean," Booth said. "I was in DC visiting some friends... and, like I said, she's my son's mother."

"But, you're not together now, right?"

"No," Booth said. "Like I said, it... it just didn't work out."

"Well, I remember where I was in '98. Like I told you, once she got settled in, I left her to go check on Russ, make certain he was keeping his nose as clean as possible? We ended up in Raleigh-Durham for some reason. So, I was only a few hundred miles away from the spot where that son of a bitch murdered my daughter and grandchild in cold blood."

Booth nodded. "And, if you give me that name, I can help make certain he pays for those crimes if he's guilty."

"Oh, he's guilty, all right." Looking away, the priest began to shake his head again. "You know… I never, *ever* liked that preppy asshole. He was always… treating Tempe like she was lucky to be with him and not the other way around like it really was. What she saw in him, I don't know… maybe he was just the best choice of what was around at the time… but, after she died, and he started that goddamn Foundation. I… my gut told me then he was involved somehow, someway, I just didn't know for certain—"

Through the rambles, Booth suddenly felt his gut tighten again, although he was fairly certain that he knew of whom the priest was speaking.

"Who?" Booth repeated again.

At last, the older man stopped talking, and spat hatefully at Booth. "Stires. Michael Stires."

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	11. Ch 11: Where the Bones Went to School

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

A/N: Umm... yeah... about a dozen of you may have seen this yesterday when Fanfic dot com decided to post the wrong chapter. I caught it fairly quickly and *did* correct it, but, well... yeah. So, if you think this chapter looks familiar and you've seen it before, it was because, well... no, you weren't hallucinating, you were just lucky enough to get a sneak peak at a chapter draft that was briefly posted out of sequence for about twenty minutes yesterday before its official release date. So, if you've seen this one before, hit the back button and go to Chapter 10 and read it if you haven't already done so because if you missed it, there is lots of stuff in there that you need to know for later so that things make sense. Then, come back and reread the final version of this one. Whew. That was exhausting. Now, on to the good stuff!~

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><p>Chapter 11 – Where the Bones Went to School<p>

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><p>The first time that Booth saw her, it again happened because he turned his head quickly enough to get a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. He was at the airport, looking in one direction, and then Sully called his name, and Booth's head unexpectedly jerked back in the opposite direction. At the edge of his peripheral vision, Booth *knew* that he'd seen someone who was very familiar to him, he just couldn't get a good enough look to tell who she was besides the fact that it was a woman. He felt fairly confident that he had seen a petite woman with dark, dark hair, and she wore a light colored dress. He *knew* he was right. Booth would have bet a thousand dollars on it by the time he saw her again in the airport. But, knowing that now wasn't the time or place, Booth pushed his growing frustration aside, and turned to follow his partner when he realized Sully had told him that their plane had started boarding their seats' section.<p>

A little over three hours later, Booth found himself walking out of O'Hare International Airport, Sully sticking to his side like his friggin' shadow. His already thin patience growing shorter, Booth snapped when Sully pointed out the fact that he was walking in the wrong direction for where they needed to pick up the appropriate airport shuttle to get to the correct rental car lot that held their reservation. Shrugging, Booth's terse (and somewhat vulgar) response, didn't seem to faze Sully, who merely carried on as if Booth had congenially responded to his comment with the latest score of the Nationals' game. Shaking his head, Booth again marveled at the fact that Sully had managed to put up with his foul mood long enough that they had been partners for well over a year now. He wasn't quite sure how Sully did it, but had long ago decided the only explanation that made any sense was one based on the notion that there must have been a fairly dominant masochistic streak in Tim Sullivan's psyche that thrived off of its regular interaction with Booth.

A couple of hours after Booth's colorful comments to his partner at the airport, Sully got out of the driver's seat of their car. He shut the door of the cherry red corvette as he glanced around the visitor's parking lot where he and Booth found themselves. The lot stood in front of a sandstone and cream marble colored building prominently labeled as the Dr. Temperance Brennan Foundation for the Advancement of Forensic Anthropology. A couple of seconds after Sully's exit, Booth stiffly got out of the passenger's side of their rental car and again scowled at his partner.

"Remind me again why you got to drive?" Booth asked.

"Because," Sully said, hitting the keyless locking mechanism on his key chain. "I'm the one who's got the expense account. I told you back at the rental place if you wanted to front the money for that piece of crap compact car that's all you normally can afford, fine. You said, however, you wanted the 'cool' convertible. Ergo, since we rented the convertible using my expense account, that means I get to drive."

"Blowhard," Booth muttered. "It's only a cool convertible if I get to drive it, Sul."

"Not my problem," Sully smiled at his partner. "You didn't specifically mention that part when you said you wanted the 'cool convertible', so it's not my problem."

"Like I said, blowhard," Booth taunted again.

"You're gonna have to do much more than that to make me cry, Booth. Time to get out the smartphone and go to urbandictionary dot com to come up with a better cut-down, I think," Sully grinned.

Shaking his head with his lips firmly pushed together, Booth inclined his head in the general direction of the building in front of them. "So, we gonna actually do some work here, or what?"

"I'm ready when you are, princess," Sully retorted.

Flipping his partner an appropriate hand gesture in response to the nickname, Booth then began to walk in the direction of the building's front door. He didn't look back to see if Sully had fallen into step behind him, even though he could tell by the sounds of his partner's footsteps that he had, despite Booth's latest round of verballess communication via offensive hand gestures. A couple of minutes later, Booth and Sully stood in front of a marble topped reception desk on the building's top floor. They marveled at the view through the extensive panes of glass that looked out over Northwestern's urban campus. A young graduate student smiled at them gratefully as she finished her phone call.

"Yes, ma'am. I do understand. But, you have to understand that Dr. Stires only holds a courtesy appointment in the Anthropology Department at Northwestern. He gave up his tenure track position many years ago, and so it's more difficult for him to meet with students when he does teach the occasional seminar. Yes, ma'am, I do. But, I'm afraid all I can do is advise you to send him another email. I can assure you there aren't any technical difficulties on our end. If you sent your message to the correct address, I'm sure he's received them. The email account is valid, you confirmed with me that you have the correct address, and I know for a fact that Dr. Stires checks it several times each day. Ergo, I know that he's gotten your messages and will respond to you as soon as he possibly can. Yes, ma'am. I will do that. And, you as well. Have a good afternoon. Thank you. Goodbye," the young woman said with a heavy sigh.

Forcing a smile on her face, she looked back up at Booth and Sully apologetically. "Gentlemen, please excuse me again. I'm sorry to keep you waiting. How can I help you?"

Taking out his badge, Sully answered, as he and Booth had agreed earlier to let Sully handle the majority of the talking until they found Stires - albeit, for Booth, it was more of a grudging agreement and actually one more accurately described as having been coerced. "My name's Special Agent Tim Sullivan of the FBI, and this is my partner, Special Agent Seeley Booth. We're here to see Michael Stires about the murder of Dr. Temperance Brennan."

At this, the young woman's face fell and a genuinely sad look came upon it. She began to tear up a bit, and Booth looked at her curiously as he reluctantly said, "You okay there, miss?"

Nodding, she responded quickly. "Oh, yes. Yes. Of course. My apologies. It's only my first semester here at Northwestern, and I just started the MA program a couple of weeks ago. But, the reason I came here instead of going to American Universitywas because Dr. Brennan… well, she was my hero… my idol, really. And, it's so, so sad what happened to her. You just caught me a little off guard. Everyone here feels like that whenever her name comes up-"

"Then you squints must get weepy a lot and waste a lot of time like that," Booth muttered. The young woman ignored him, apparently not even registering a word, despite Sully's effort to elbow Booth in the stomach eliciting a mufled groan from Booth.

"-It's such a sad thing that happened to her. I even know for a personal fact that Dr. Stires said he gets emotionally responsive every time he comes into the office and sees her memorial painting. Dr. Stires misses her very much."

"So, you never actually met Dr. Brennan?" Sully asked, trying to get the loquacious young woman focused back on the pertinent topic of discussion.

"Sadly, no," the woman sniffled. "But, it was my life's ambition to meet her, and I so badly wanted to study with her. I graduated from high school early so I could finish my college degree as quickly as possible after I read one of the first journal articles she ever published when *she* was just a Masters student here. It was about methods of removing flesh from remains without compromising osteological marrow samples. She was brilliant, just brilliant." Pointing at a large oil painting that hung in the small waiting room, she sighed. "Unfortunately, since I can't work with Dr. Brennan, I had to find another mentor. I know I was very lucky to be accepted by Dr. Stires as his graduate assistant. He's really the next best thing to her, you know, since he was her dissertation adviser."

"On her dissertation committee," Booth corrected her. "Her actual chair was Dr. Gardner."

Frowning, the woman said, "Perhaps on paper, but anyone who knows anything about Dr. Temperance Brennan, particularly someone gifted and fortunate enough to work as the personal graduate assistant to the Founder and Chair of the Dr. Temperance Brennan Foundation for the Advancement of Forensic Anthropology knows that Dr. Stires was the real man behind Dr. Brennan's research."

"Yeah, uh, about that—" Sully began.

"Where is Stires?" Booth said abruptly, tired of the delays. "We need to see him immediately. Official FBI business. I'm sure you understand, Miss-?"

"Wick," came the response. "I'm Daisy Wick. And, as I said, there's no place I would rather work than here as Dr. Stires' assistant, especially since I get to do my job in a place where I know Dr. Brennan's watchful eyes are always looking down on me—"

Glancing again at the oil painting that Wick jad gestured to, Booth finally took a real look at it and scowled. "That thing doesn't even really look like her, you know that, right?"

"And, how would you know that?' Wick said. "You never even met her."

"She's smiling. And, she's not squinting… and she looks entirely too… fake," Booth said. "If there are three things that no one can argue about Temperance Brennan it's that she rarely smiled, she always squinted, and she was always genuine and honest and definitely *not* that Stepford creation up there in that painting."

"Well, of course, you're welcome to your opinion, Agent Booth. However, Dr. Stires commissioned that portrait himself and personally approved its design. And, if there's one person who knew the *real* Dr. Brennan, it's Dr. Stires," Wick said fervently.

"And, that's why we're here," Sully said, jumping in as he could telling the increasing ire in his partner's tone indicated a potential argument with the graduate student that neither one of them really needed if they hoped to accomplish their goals. "When we came onto campus, security called and checked to see if he was here. They said he was in, so, if you could just let him know we're here and need just a few moments of his time, that'd be great."

"I can't do that," Wick insisted instantaneously.

"Why not?" Booth almost growled.

"Because," Wick said obliviously, not intimidated by Booth's tone in the slightest. "As you heard me tell the woman of the phone, Dr. Stires isn't here. He *was* here when campus security called a little while ago, but he had a personal emergency that he needed to attend to immediately. He left specific instructions that I'm supposed to give you access to whatever you need, extend his apologies, and schedule an appointment for you later in the week if you still want to talk to him."

Sighing, Booth said, "I cannot believe this B-S."

"Booth," Sully said warningly. Turning to Wick, he said, "In that case, we're going to need access to Dr. Brennan's collection. Her papers and personal items that were transferred into her keeping at the time of the Foundation's creation?"

Standing, the woman nodded. "Of course. It will take some time to begin to bring you what you need, but in the mean time, if you follow me, I'll take you to the lounge. You can wait there while I see how long it will take to get the items you've requested out of storage."

* * *

><p>A couple of hours later, Booth and Sully sat at a very old and scared wooden bar in a dark pub just off the beaten path of Northwestern's campus. They sat with three other friendly individuals, one professor and two of his friends. The professor, Dr. Alan Staines, they had encountered while Miss Wick left them to their own devices in the Foundation's lounge. After beginning to chat with Staines, when they mentioned Brennan's name, a knowing look came onto his face followed by an offer to 'buy them a beer someplace less formal.' When Daisy Wick returned slightly after Staines made his offer, and she informed them they would have to return the next morning because it would take longer than expected to pull the Brennan collection boxes, both agents readily agreed with the offer of grabbing a drink. Neither one wanted to waste the entire day and hoped Staines might offer some insight that wouldn't be found in the Foundation's collections. As it turned out, Booth and Sully had been more gratified than they possibly could have hoped when two women, one about Staines' age and the other in her forties, had joined them at the bar not long after their arrival, thanks to a call from Staines once the agents explained who they were and what they were doing in Chicago.<p>

"So, why do I get the feeling you didn't just want to take pity on the out-of-towners and buy the newbies a drink?" Booth asked.

Staines said with a nod at Booth, "Oh, you're good." Chuckling, he then added with a smile, "That is so awesome. Michael is going to *hate* you if you're that good."

"Well, I don't like to brag-"

"Then don't," Sully said, pointing at his partner. Nodding at Staines, he then said, "And, please don't tell him that," Sully groaned. "His ego's big enough as is."

"Well, he's gonna need a big ego with the goods to back it up if you guys are finally going to solve Tempe's murder," Staines said.

"Yeah, about that," Sully began. "You think you might be able to give us some hints about where to start?"

"Besides the fact that even if I know why officially you have to interview Michael, I can tell you it's probably a waste of time? You're not really gonna get what you need from talking to him if what you're after is the real story about what happened to Tempe when she was here in grad school."

"And, how do you know anything about that?" Booth asked carefully.

"Two reasons,"Staines said. "One, my name. If you haven't noticed, it's awfully similar to Michael Stires' name. There have been a lot of mix ups over the years where emails, packages, and other crap comes to me and was meant for him. So, I hear things."

"And number two?" Sully asked.

"My wife," he nodded at a petite blonde sitting next to Booth. "Joanna went to grad school with Tempe. They both had the unfortunate chore and unenviable distinction of having had to work with Stires."

"Oh?' Booth said, turning to Joanna. "You knew Dr. Brennan?"

Nodding, Joanna Staines said, "Yeah. I was probably one of the closest things to a good friend that Tempe had while she was still alive. We came in as a part of the same cohort as MA students. She finished her PhD in record fast time while mine is sort of still… lingering."

"I can translate that for you, Agent Booth, if you're not sure what that vague statement means. It really means she still hasn't finished her dissertation yet after seven and a half years," Alan Staines said a bit smugly. "She's a perpetual dissertator."

"Alan!" Joanna chastised him. "Cut it out. You know that's a sore spot."

"Sorry, hun," Alan grinned.

Shaking her head, Joanna turned to Booth and continued. "What do you want to know about Tempe?"

"How close were Stires and Brennan?" Booth asked.

At this, the third voice chimed in, the tall brunette sitting next to Alan leaned in towards Booth as she spoke. "Close. Real close, actually, is a better descriptor… but then again, everyone knew that."

"And, you are?" Sully asked.

"Tanya York," the brunette said.

"Tanya is one of the best people to talk to if you really want to know what's going on with whom since when, why and how. If she doesn't know about it, it's probably because there's nothing to know. She can tell you everything from who broke the copy machine and didn't tell anyone to get it fixed because they were embarrassed, to who just farted in the Anthro department's break room, or who stole your lunch out of the community. She's the department manager and knows *everything*," Alan said.

"Alan might be *slightly* exaggerating," Tanya said. "But, not by much. When you're one of the few people in the main office *all* day, people always coming and going by your desk, you *do* hear things."

"And, you knew Dr. Brennan, Ms. York?" Sully said.

"Sure," Tanya said. "We all did. But, that's not what you all want to know, I think. What you all really want to know is what was going on between Tempe and Michael. What there story was, so to speak."

"We do?" Booth asked.

"Yeah," Tanya said. "And, like Joanna said, there's not much to tell that half the campus didn't a brilliant student. Every person in the department knew that as soon as her admission application came in to the graduate committee. Michael was a visiting instructor in the department at the time. He only got hired because it was a visiting line due to be replaced in two years, and we really didn't have anyone else for the job. But, little spider that he is, even back then he was rather opportunistically... smarmy, Michael volunteered to help out on the graduate committee. It's the kind of work that no one really wants to do in the department, because it's so tedious, but it's so, so important. The more people there are, the easier the work goes. So, like I said, Michael got on the graduate committee, and when Tempe's application came up, he almost lost it in front of everyone out of excitement. Michael figured if he could get Tempe admitted, or at least do enough to be in the right place at the right time to be able to claim credit for her admission, that would open the door to her being indebted to him. We all knew that Michael figured that if he could sink his greedy little claws into Tempe, she'd be his ticket to a tenure track job at Northwestern. He was all over her like white on rice from day one… but, fortunately, Al Gardner was the department chair the year she was admitted. He knew what Michael was trying to do, but couldn't ever quite find a reason to get rid of him. So, he did the next best thing and took on Tempe himself as a graduate student. Al used his seniority to claim precedence as her dissertation adviser, even though he was so close to retirement that he hadn't taken on any new students in years. She was his last one. I think when Al heard she had been killed, it helped on the heart attack that finally did him in a few years ago, God rest his soul."

"So… professionally, from day one, Stires was into Brennan. How did she react to him?" Sully asked.

"Cautiously, at first," Tanya said. "She worked hard, was quiet, kept putting one foot in front of the other. But, eventually, Michael kept after her… inviting her to guest lecture in his seminars, requesting her as his Graduate Assistant, taking her to conferences. Eventually, Tempe kinda just got… used to him."

"And, they're personal relationship started when?" Booth asked.

Sully shot his partner another look, but didn't say anything. Booth shrugged as Tanya took a breath and started to answer Booth's question.

"If I had to guess," Tanya began. "And, Joanna will correct me if she knows something different than I do, I'm sure, but I would say probably.. in it's earliest form, probably a year and a half, maybe two years before she graduated. It was after she went ABD, though…"

"ABD?" Booth asked in confusion.

"All-but-dissertation," Alan offered in clarification. "It means she had only to complete her dissertation and defend it before she completed her degree requirements and could graduate."

"Ahh," Booth said. He stopped and then said, "None of you happen to know if they're relationship continued after she graduated and moved away from Chicago by chance do you?"

At this, Alan and Joanna exchanged a look while Tanya laughed. "Oh, hell, yes. Like I said, everyone knew about them… and everyone knew about that argument."

"What argument?" Booth questioned.

"When Tempe found out she had gotten a job offer from the Jeffersonian, Michael was beyond pissed off because he had applied for the same position and he hadn't even make the cut for preliminary interviews. When Tempe told him she was taking the job and moving to DC, they had the biggest and loudest break up argument that's ever shaken the floor boards of our department office over the years, and *that's* saying something," Tanya said.

"Did it get physical between them? Was Stires the type that you might say could be… err, aggressive in the right situation?" Booth asked.

"What you're really asking me is, do I think that if he got pissed off enough, could Michael be violent towards a woman under a specific set of circumstances? A woman, say… like Tempe?" Tanya clarified.

Nodding, Booth watched the woman's eyes narrow before she spoke again.

"Yeah," Tanya offered at last. "Michael has a nasty streak when his plans get screwed up. Before the Jeffersonian job, his relationship with Tempe had been symbiotic. They both used each other, and both of them got something from their relationship. After that, Michael didn't like it when he couldn't use her anymore. I know he went to DC a few times to see her after she moved, but I don't know if they ever got back together officially. I, do think, however, that he was genuinely upset by the news of her death when we heard what had happened, if for no other reason than that such a great meal ticket like Tempe had vanished into a puff of thin air when she died. I mean, at the time we never dreamed he'd pull off something like creating the Foundation, and he's done well for himself since, but in the first few months after her death, he was truly… different. Moody, argumentative, depressed, apprehensive. Hell, even nervous. But, I guess that was just his way with dealing with the grief."

"If he didn't kill her, you mean?" Booth asked.

Tanya gave him an apprising look, but then slowly nodded.

Turning to the other woman seated at the table, Booth said, "Joanna, I have a question I need to ask you."

"Sure."

"I know you may not have been best friends, but did you keep in contact with Dr. Brennan after she moved to DC?" Booth asked.

Nodding, Joanna said, "Yes. It wasn't tremendously frequent, because Tempe was never the most talkative of people on a good day, but yeah. We spoke about once a week."

"So, she told you about things that were going on with Stires?"

"Of course," Joanna said. "She couldn't help it, really. Tempe wasn't really adroit in the more... personal aspects of human interaction. I mean, she had been getting better over the years, but she usually came to me for guidance on stuff like that."

"And, do you agree with Ms. York's statement? Were Dr. Brennan and Dr. Stires that close in their personal relationship?"

"More or less," Joanna said. "But, Tempe was very, very rigid in how she allowed their personal relationship to develop because it was all about work for her, first and foremost. The research came first and everything else came after, so anything personal? Well, it was a very, very slow thing that took a *long* time to evolve. If Michael hadn't been as persistent as he was, I think most guys would have given up on her. But, Michael just kept at it, wearing her down over the years. And, on the rare occasions that she allowed herself to have some free time, I would say that Michael was the closest thing to a social life that Tempe had."

"Even after she graduated?"

"Well, maybe not as much," Joanna admitted. "Once she successfully defended her dissertation, got the job at the Jeffersonian, and moved to DC, she was a bit more... confidant than she's been as a student. That's probably why Tempe didn't give into Michael as much as she used to and why their fights got worse."

"And, before she died, when was the last time you talked to her?" Booth questioned.

"Probably… a couple of weeks before Halloween," Joanna responded.

"And, did you notice anything different about how Dr. Brennan sounded? Did she say anything that was out of the ordinary?" Booth inquired.

Thinking for a moment, Joanna finally replied, "I know Michael had gone to DC to see her at the beginning of October. He was back by the end of the month, or thereabouts. When we spoke that last time, she told me they had another huge fight about something. She was vague, but said having to get the locks on her place changed because he had barged in when he shouldn't have." Joanna stopped for a moment, going over the conversation in her mind. Confident in her recall, she continued. "Anyway, the thing is, when Tempe was telling me about him - the latest blow up, you know? She didn't seem all that bothered by it. Inconvenienced? Sure. Annoyed? Definitely. But, sad or unhappy or depressed like she usually was every time she and I talked after something like this had always happened before? That final time? Not so much."

"Well, that's not really a surprise, is it? Everyone we've spoken to says that Temperance Brennan didn't really do emotions," Sully said.

"That's just what people who didn't know her would say," Joanna responded. "Deep down, the icy exterior was just a protective defense mechanism. She actually had quite a warm and loving heart. Just, well, not that many people got close enough to see the real her. Tempe wasn't the type of woman who trusted easily... or quickly. When she and Michael officially broke up the spring she graduated, it really hurt her. Not many people knew it, but she took the split pretty hard. I know that Tempe contemplated getting back together with him over the summer, which is why he visited her in DC as much as he did, but by the last time I talked to her? She was definitely done with Michael. I don't know who did it, but I'd love to send the guy a fruit basket if I could ever find out who he was. Michael was toxic to Tempe, and I've never been as glad as the day she told me she had met someone new."

Booth looked to Sully, Sully looked to Booth. Neither spoke verbally, but the look they exchanged said a lot.

Carefully, Sully finally asked, "Did she tell you his name? The new guy, I mean?"

"No," Joanna said. "Only that he was tall, brunette, dark eyes… Tempe's normal tastes, I suppose." She stopped again and then snapped her fingers. "No wait. There is one more thing. His smile. I do remember she told me he had a *killer* smile. That was what caught her attention the first time she saw him. But, no, she never told me his name."

"And, did Michael know about this new guy?" Booth asked.

"Maybe," Joanna said. "I don't know for certain."

Looking at Tanya, Booth said, "You know Stires well enough to give me an answer to my question. He's the type of man who would have done what if he knew that Brennan was dating a new guy that wasn't him?"

Tanya looked Booth straight in the eye for a minute before she said confidently, "Probably fly into a jealous, murderous rage."

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	12. Ch 12: The Belongings of the Bones

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T (be mindful of one teeny tiny more-naughty-than normal curse word that sneaked in... but the situation really called for it. So sorry about that. I'm not changing the rating since it was a one-time thing... I think! But... just so that everyone's aware...)

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

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><p>Chapter 12 – The Belongings of the Bones Reveal Another Clue<p>

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><p>Booth sat in the bar of the hotel where Sully and he had returned to after their unhelpful and frustrating meeting with Stires' annoying graduate assistant at Northwestern and the unplanned but extremely information conversation with several of Temperance Brennan's academic acquaintances at the off-campus pub. Sully, ever mindful of his partner's mindset, signaled to the bartender and ordered two glasses of scotch, neat.<p>

When the bartender returned with the order, Sully picked his glass up and began to sip. Booth's remained untouched for several minutes. Sully watched his partner and friend continue to stare vaguely at the Cubs game that was on the television behind the bar. Knowing that Booth wasn't really watching the game, but focusing on it while various thoughts ran through his head, Sully frowned. He could feel waves of intense anger continue to radiate off of Booth's tense frame. He had been like that since they finished the conversation with Brennan's colleagues from Northwestern. A moody and brooding Booth was hard to ignore and so very easy to read. At last, Sully tapped Booth on the shoulder and slid the glass of scotch towards his friend.

"Here," Sully said. "It'll help. And, I think it's more than fair to say that, after the day we've both had, we could use *and* deserve something a little stronger than a friggin' beer."

Booth turned to look at Sully, glanced at the glass, and shrugged. Grabbing it in one fast and fluid movement, Booth lifted it to his lips and swallowed the potent alcohol in a single gulp. Sully frowned at the action, while Booth returned the now empty glass to the bar.

"Well, there goes $10.75 down the tubes in one foul swoop," Sully mused. "Did you even taste it before swallowing it down that big fat gullet of yours or did it just get poured straight into your esophagus?"

Scowling at his words, Booth's lips pursed tightly, but he remained quiet. Nodding at him, Sully tried again.

"All right, Booth. Cut this crap out. You've been doing you're best brooding caveman/intimidate-the-suspect crap since we left the pub. But, we both know that's not going to cut it with me. I know you better than that. So tell me... what gives?" Sully asked.

Opening his mouth, Booth thought better of the clipped retort he was going to hurl at his well-meaning partner and so closed it. Sighing instead, Booth took a few seconds to put together as short an explanation as possible that would both satisfy and not offend Sully. At last, he said, "I'm afraid what'll happen if I go back to the Foundation with you tomorrow. I'm finding it really, really difficult to do anything more than just concentrate on keeping from losing my cool right now, because I know that if I do, I'll use every resource we have available to find Michael Stires tonight and punch him as hard as I possibly can until he's nothing more than a puddle of bloody flesh that's only too happy finally to be confessing to murdering her. And, that's with me here, sitting at a bar, at least physically separated from the bastard by some distance. If I see him tomorrow, Sul, I don't know what I may do to him. But, I can't not go with you either. I *have* to be there tomorrow... at the very least to back you up... but, more importantly... I'm really the only one who can go through the evidence who might not miss something. I'll see things that might not have any significance to you since I know Brennan, and I know what we're looking for... and, everything else aside, I really, really need to see that son-of-a-bitch in person. I need to see him, hear his voice... if I do, then I definitely know one way or another if he did it like we think he did. I mean, I don't know how it can't be him, and maybe it could be this new guy that Joanna was talking about, but the motive still points to Stires. And, I have to be certain, you know?"

Sully considered the words before he said, "Yeah, well. I thought as much. But, you know if we screw this up, we could jeopardize the integrity of the case."

"I know that," Booth said. "And, that's why I'm here right now, with you, instead of at the FBI field office putting out an APB on him."

"We can still put him under surveillance, if you want," Sully said.

"I do."

"-But, I don't think it's necessary, though."

"I don't care. I want it done."

"A guy like Stires seems arrogant enough that after all this time, he thinks that, since he hasn't been caught yet, he's gotten away with it. If I were profiling this guy, I'd say the last thing he's going to do is run. It goes against all he's worked for to set himself up as king of the non-profit foundation he's made for himself at the university."

"If you say so," Booth said. "But, I still want the detail put on him."

"Okay," Sully said. "I'll make the call in a minute."

"I-I just… I haven't even met the guy, and I already want to pound him, Sul. I… I'm—" Booth's words trailed off.

"Trying to get a grip?" Sully offered.

"Yeah," Booth said, at last.

"That's why Caroline sent me with you, you know?" Sully said.

"She knew?"

Sully shrugged. "Suspected. You've been taking this case a lot more personally than anything in recent memory as far as anyone can recall. She's been worried… and so have I."

Sighing, Booth said, "I can't explain it, Sul. This case… and Brennan. It's… there's something about it… about *her* that has just been overwhelming me. I don't know why, but I can't stop thinking about her, about what happened to her and her baby… and about that bastard Stires. What type of guy can kill… let alone a woman like that… to say nothing of the fact that she was carrying his child?"

Frowning, Sully said, "That's an awful big leap to make, Booth."

"What?" Booth said. "I thought we both agreed that Stires is the prime suspect."

"No, not that," Sully answered. "I mean, yeah, I do think Stires is the best candidate on our suspect list right now… at least…."

"What?"

"At least until we find out who the other guy that Joanna told us about was… right now, he has to be a suspect that we can't rule out either. I mean, and this is what I was saying about making leaps, even if Brennan knew she was pregnant, Stires isn't necessarily the father. It might have been this other guy, the new one that Joanna mentioned. I'll give you the fact that Stires had more to lose if Brennan was blowing him off, but even still, we don't know that he was the father of Brennan's child," Sully finished. "That's another reason we need to be really careful when we talk to Stires. Chances are he's the only other person who might know who the new guy in Brennan's life was before she died, and we need that info. Even if Stires is the one who killed her, the new boyfriend might be able to give us crucial testimony that can seal the case against Stires. We have to find out who he is, regardless of the fact that he could either be a secondary suspect or a prime witness. And, unless we can find something in Brennan's papers here in Chicago, since you picked clean the DC half and didn't find anything, Stires is probably the only one who can tell us who the guy was. I'm willing to bet that if there was anything useful or incriminating in her stuff here, Stires has probably already gotten to it and destroyed the evidence. So, we *need* him."

Signaling to the bartender for a new drink, Booth began to sip it slowly once it arrived. He remained quiet for a another moment before he said reluctantly, "You're right."

Reaching out, Sully patted Booth on the back in a couple of reassuring pats before he said, ""I know." He then grinned. "I'm always right. What I don't know, and still don't get, by the way, is the fact as to why haven't you learned that universal truth by now?"

Sighing in mock frustration, Booth bit back a smile as Sully continued to smirk. Throwing another appropriate verbal jibe at his partner, in reality Booth didn't think he could ever remember a time he had been more grateful that Sully *was* his partner... and friend. Sully was there, and Booth took comfort from knowing that he wasn't going to have to go through whatever the hell *this* was that awaited him tomorrow by himself.

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><p>Several hours later, Booth found himself drifting back into consciousness. He was in bed, had been asleep for a while judging by the reluctance with which his eyes opened, and it was still dark outside as he knew the room remained too cloaked in shadow for it to be morning yet. Reassuringly, the soft sounds of Sully's snores emanated from the bed next to his in a comfortable rhythm.<p>

Booth yawned a bit, shifted in the bed, and then, suddenly, he felt a surge of adrenaline shoot through his body.

*Something* was off. *Something* wasn't right.

Years of special ops training had taught him that if you were going to not only be a sniper, but be the best of the best, you *had* to trust your instincts. And, right now, Booth's instincts were screaming at him that *something* wasn't right, and he *needed* to pay attention to it.

Forcing himself to remain calm and to keep his breathing at an even pace, Booth forced his eyes to focus in the darkness. Scanning as much of the room as he could without moving his head, Booth could see no overt sources for the cause of his instinctual response. Deciding to risk a small movement, one that would hopefully gain more information for him, Booth turned his head slowly in the opposite direction. As his head moved, he suddenly caught a glimpse of something as the air conditioner sent a gust of air through the room, moved the window's sheer, and a soft beam of outside light added a brief additional level of illumination into the room and focused his gaze at a spot several feet in front of him. *Something* was there, after all.

No, it wasn't *something*, Booth instantly realized, it was *someone* standing at the foot of his bed.

Suddenly bolting up in bed, Booth fixed his gaze defiantly in the direction where he knew he had seen her once again. Of course, by the time he gain a clear line of sight to the spot where he knew she had been standing, nothing was there. She was gone. But, unlike the previous instances where Booth had at least some amount of uncertainty that made him doubt he was being watched, *this* time, Booth knew what and who he had seen. This time, it hadn't been just a vague image of a dark haired women wearing a cream colored dress that had caught the edge of his peripheral vision. This time, Booth knew that he had seen the woman standing at the edge of his bed. This was the same woman that Booth knew he had been glimpsing on several different occasions in several different places since he had started working on the Brennan case. And, now, Booth knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, why she had looked so familiar to him.

A cold shiver ran up and down his spine, not exactly the same feeling he had gotten on occasion when he had come into something directly related to Dr. Temperance Brennan's murder. No, this sensation was a cousin... close, but definately different. Booth struggled to keep panic from overwhelming him. He wasn't scared by what, or more accurately, *who* he had seen, no not really. But, he was concerned by the significance of her identity now that if had finally been confirmed. Yes, that was what worried Booth the most, because he would swear under any sacred oath that any person could come up with that Booth had been seeing images of one Sarah Jackson Booth – his mother.

The only problem with that scenario was that Booth knew, for a fact, that his mother had been dead for more than twenty years. And, in realizing that if he was seeing the ghost of his dead mother that Booth was in serious, serious trouble, for one of the few times in his life, he started to come to terms with the fact that he was honestly and truly actually afraid.

* * *

><p>"I told you that going through the boxes in this way is probably the least effective manner in which you could process the evidence."<p>

"Yeah, well, since I'm the cop and you're the squint, when it comes to cop stuff, I trump you," Booth sighed. "I cop, you squint, and that's that. No arguments."

Booth found himself sitting in another conference room, this time in the Northwestern building that housed the Dr. Temperance Brennan Foundation for the Advancement of Forensic Anthropology. Booth already hated this building, and if he had to be there for any other reason than it was the location of the rest of Brennan's belongings, he wouldn't have stepped foot in the damn place, even if someone had paid him. Pushing back from the table, Booth adjusted the ear buds that led to a portable CD player that sat on the table in front of him. Upon their arrival earlier that morning, Stires' assistant informed them that the professor had been called away from campus on an unexpected personal emergency and wouldn't be back for several days. Booth shot Sully a look at that, but said nothing in reference to his partner's early profiling assessment that Stires wasn't the type to run. However, since it appeared that he was still in contact with his assistant, and nothing seemed extremely out of the ordinary, there wasn't anything that either agent could really do about Stires' MIA status unless they finally found some incontrovertible piece of evidence that he had actually been the one to kill Brennan.

So, once again, Booth found himself again listening to Brennan's voice as he simultaneously played another CD from a stack, that appeared to contain more dictated notes for her dissertation research, and processed additional boxes, much as he had at Quantico. Booth hadn't started out alone, as Sully had accompanied Booth that morning and had started to help his partner process the evidence. However, upon getting a call from the FBI's Chicago Field Office in response to their surveillance team that had been put on Stires the day before, Sully had reluctantly agreed to leave Booth alone to work on processing the boxes while he had a short run over to see what was going on exactly. Booth hadn't liked the plan of splitting up anymore than Sully did, but since Stires wasn't there and not expected, and Booth wouldn't be alone for more than an hour or two, it was a necessary risk they agreed needed to be taken. The field agents in Chicago wouldn't brief Sully or Booth over the phone, so Sully knew that at least one of them needed to see what was going on with Stires. Figuring that of the two situations, Booth would be less likely to come into contact with Stires at Northwestern as opposed to the field details that had been tracking Stires, to the FBI field office he had gone, and in the Foundation's conference room, Booth had stayed.

Taking a break for shuffling through the most recent box Booth had been digging through, he pushed back his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Stifling a yawn, Booth shook his head in resigned frustration as he scanned the mountains of evidence still left to be sifted through before he could leave. Much as Sully had anticipated, Booth hadn't found a single useful piece of information yet, and he suspected he wouldn't find anything thanks to Stires. But, he still had to go through everything... just in case, and the tedium bored Booth.

"Ya know, it's one thing just to be tired because I didn't get back to sleep last night, but it's really another when I'm seeing the ghost of my dead mother, hearing the voice of another dead woman talking to me, and I'm seriously considering the possibility that both of you are real because I can't find any other logical explanation for either occurrence," Booth said, suddenly, deciding that he had missed talking to her and resumed their imaginary conversation from earlier.

"And, you've discounted the possibility of a complete mental break with reality why again?" Brennan's voice came to him through the earbuds.

"I'm many things, Bones, but not crazy," Booth said.

"Well, you're talking to a woman who's been dead for almost six years. If that doesn't say crazy, I don't know what does," Brennan's disembodied voice came into his head.

"Listen, if you aren't going to help me with all this crap of yours, then why do you have to be so snotty about things?" Booth said. "I don't know, can't you just make chit-chat, Bones? Normal conversation?"

"Why?" she responded. "'Chit chat' and other social pleasantries are an inherent waste of time."

"Because," Booth said. "Chit chat? Conversation? It's what *normal* people do."

"Even when I was alive, I wasn't a *normal* person, but quite extraordinary. And, it stands to reason that your obsession with my case and the increasing signs of an impending mental breakdown seem to signify that you aren't normal either, so why should we 'chit chat'?"

"You know what?" Booth sighed. "Just forget it. I... I don't know why I even bothered trying. Why don't you at try shutting up for a while so I can actually get some work done instead?"

"Setting aside the point that *you* are the one who began speaking to *me*, I'm not being quiet merely because that would make your life easier," she replied.

"Of course, not. You wouldn't do a considerate thing like that for me, now, would you? You making my life easy isn't really an idea that exists in your universe, does it?" Booth asked.

"No, it doesn't."

Shaking his head, as Booth reached for another stack of file folders, he sighed again.

"Why do you keep respirating in such an exaggerated manner? Are you having difficulty with your breathing? Frequent yawning can be indicative of a severe lack of required oxygen going to your brain—"

"Oi, Bones! Shut it, will ya?" Booth said. "I'm just fine, thank you."

"But for the hearing voices and seeing ghosts manifestations of your mental illness, you mean?"

"I'm *not* mentally ill!" Booth huffed. "God, if you were here right now, I think I'd have to either kiss you or shake you to shut you up."

"Ahh," Brennan's voice said. "Both choices indicative of a sublimated sexual attraction to me on your behalf that you've refused to acknowledge."

"I'm not going to dignify that comment with a further response," Booth muttered.

"You just did."

"Bones—"

"Yes?"

"Just… be quiet, would ya?" Booth pleaded. His response was finally met with silence. Smiling, Booth said, "Thank you."

Resuming his work, Booth realized that the pile of Brennan's belongings collected in Chicago seemed to be even more dry and boring and nondescript (read: attractive to squints) than what he had processed in DC. A couple of hours later, Booth had to admit he was somewhat surprised when he *finally* found something of mild interest when he uncovered a small box containing a stack of well-worn paperback books.

"Well, well, Bones. I never would have taken you for the type," Booth said at last, referring to her for the first time in quite a while.

"Type for what?" the voice returned.

"What are these doing here?" Booth said, lifting one of the novels up. "Scott Turrow, John Grisham, James Lee Burke, James Patterson…. why, Bones… were you a secret mystery novel junkie?"

"They were purely for research purposes, I assure you, Booth," she replied. "You know I was planning on writing my own crime novel after I had established myself into a normal work routine at the Jeffersonian."

"Yeah," Booth conceded. "But, I've yet to find any manuscript. Not even a partial one."

"That's because there isn't one to find. I hadn't written anything before I was murdered."

"Oh," Booth said, somewhat dejectedly. "Well, I suppose that explains why I wouldn't have found one yet."

"In a way, I'm glad, you know, that that part of my papers went to DC and not here. Michael never appreciated my creative side. He was always criticizing me for 'wasting my time' with Kathy's mysteries. But, I couldn't help it. She was… an escape for me. Although I'd never tell anyone else this… there's a part of me that always wished I could do what she did, you know? Or, at least was going to do? Be a forensic anthropologist by day, and a dashing crime solver by night? I think I used planning the novels as a way to cope with the pressures of finishing my dissertation."

"Well, I'm sorry that you never got a chance to tell Kathy's story, Bones. I think it would have been a great read. I bet you would've been a fantastic novelist," Booth offered.

"Yes, well, putting aside the fact that it is impossible to know what my skill levels would have been as a fictional novelist compared to others in the field since I was never published, I do appreciate the sentiments behind your comments."

"It's just a compliment, Bones. You could just say 'thank you'," Booth said gently.

"I believe that's what I just did."

Laughing a bit, Booth began to flip through each of the paperback novels to see if they held any writing or other such notes that might help his investigation. Reaching back into the box, Booth pulled out another book once he had gone through the Turrow, Grisham, Burke, and Patterson books he had already flipped through without so much as finding an old business card or receipt used as a bookmark. Booth's hands firmly clasped the final book in the box, and, pulling it towards him, Booth made a face when he read its title.

"Well, well, well, Bones. What's this?" he said, real curiosity entering his voice.

"What's what?"

"What are you doing… with a Jane Austen novel in your box of crime books?" Booth said, grinning. "I didn't think you were that much of a… girl."

"I'm not sure what that's doing there," came the response. "I never liked Austen. She was too frivolous and emotional for my tastes."

"Like I said, in a word… a 'girl'," Booth countered.

Glancing down at the book's title, Booth looked at it as the ever familiar ice cold shiver again ran down his back.

"You know," he began quietly. "This book? It's probably the *least* popular of all of Austen's works."

"And, how do you know that, Booth? Is this your way of confessing to me that you're in touch with your metaphorical feminine side?"

"No," Booth said. "_Persuasion_… it was my mother's favorite book when I was growing up. She… I never knew why, but she sometimes read it to me when I was a kid and couldn't fall asleep."

"Very coincidental," her voice observed. "You manage to find a copy of your mother's favorite novel in a stack of otherwise homogenous books that belonged to me after a period of days when you claim you've been seeing her ghost. Perhaps such a coincidence signifies the book's relevance as some type of a clue, Booth."

"Or, maybe I really *am* finally cracking up," Booth murmured, shaking his head as he opened the book's front cover.

He had begun paging through the book, and stopped about 2/3 of the way through. Unlike the others, this book *was* different. No, it didn't contain any handwriting or notes... but, *something* was inside this book. Booth's heart began to beat so hard and fast, that he wondered if it was loud enough that another person might be able to hear it as it roared in his ears. Gently holding the book open to the page where something small lay carefully tucked between two pages, Booth's hands began to shake as he reached inside and realized that it was a photograph. Lifting it up, Booth removed the small photo that lay hidden in the pages of the book and brought it to his eyes to take a very close look.

Immediately, Booth's color drained, and he felt the world spin in and out of focus a bit. Trying to catch his breath, Booth had to force himself to breathe slowly and evenly since he didn't want to start to hyperventilate. After a few minutes, his eyes never leaving the image, Booth finally felt his breathing return to normal, and he at last verbalized the single thought that had been repeatedly running through his mind on a constant loop for the last five minutes.

"What the fuck is this?" Booth muttered, shaking his head in disbelief

Pulling the photo closer to him, Booth at last realized that he could no longer say that he had never seen a photo of Dr. Temperance Brennan when she was smiling an honest-to-goodness genuine smile. In this photo, she not only was smiling, but she looked the happiest that Booth had ever seen her. He could tell by the background that the photo had been taken in DC. The columns of the Lincoln Memorial were just visible in the background. Booth surmised that Brennan had been sitting on the memorial's steps when the photo had been taken.

However, neither that, or the fact that she was smiling, was what had elicited such a confusion-induced shock to Booth's system. No, what had turned the normally stalwart former-Army Ranger sniper/current FBI agent into a shaking mass of nervousness was the fact of *who* was in the photo with Brennan.

There could be no mistaking it, no mistaking *him*.

Seated next to the dead woman, his arm draped tightly around her shoulder, in what could only be described as a proprietary gesture, a man was staring lovingly at Brennan while she looking laughingly into the camera. That image in and of itself was not the shocking part. No, what had made Booth start to feel nauseous once more was the inexplicability of the fact that it wasn't Michael Stires holding Brennan in the photo – it was Seeley Booth himself.

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	13. Ch 13: The Professor of the Bones

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

A/N: Everyone's response to the last chapter was OVERWHELMING. You guys are all awesome, so many thanks. It's so cool to think that you guys are rocking the love to this story like I have. It really has turned out to be one of my favorites that I've ever written. And, for those wondering, the good news is that we aren't even half-way through yet. So, stay tuned... and, even though I really don't like to be a review whore... keep 'em coming. They really do help and are friggin' great. Now, on with the show!

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><p>Chapter 13 – The Professor of the Bones<p>

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><p>A million thoughts were running through Booth's mind.<p>

_How?_

_What?_

_When?_

But, eventually, he kept coming back to the first question… how? _How was this possible? _How?

Booth knew he was a smart guy, so he tried to push the shock away and use logic for once.

Fact: Booth knew he had never met Dr. Temperance Brennan.

Evidence: She had lived in Chicago prior to 1998. Booth had lived in Philadelphia during his childhood, and then Georgia when he enlisted in the Army, and then back to Philadelphia when he was given leave to complete his degree. After school, back to Georgia he went, with detours in Kuwait and Somalia, then, back to Georgia and Philadelphia. It was actually a logical and reassuring pattern.

Brennan had died in 1998 in Washington DC. After 1998, Booth's pattern of movement had remained fairly constant and mostly199 as it had been when compared to the cycle established prior to 1998. So, Booth knew exactly where he had been that year... in Georgia and then Germany. But, for the brief 30-day leave when he had been in Washington DC - and he had spent that *entire* leave distracted by and occupied with Rebecca - Booth felt confident that he wasn't missing any random chunks of time that were unaccounted for... he *knew* it. Brennan had died on October 31, 1998. Booth had not returned to the States until late June 1999, after the operation in Kosovo. She was dead by that point, and he was occupied with other things. Thus, since Booth knew he could have never been in the same place at the same time as Brennan before she was killed, he couldn't have met her and just forgotten it somehow. Booth didn't have memory problems. He *knew* that... and, so, therefore, he knew that he had *never* met Brennan.

Conclusion: Ergo, the coincidence of the photo being inside his mother's favorite book aside, Booth knew the photograph couldn't be real.

That left several possibilities to explain the image. The most probable of the explanations was the most simple - Booth guessed that someone had doctored the photograph and left it there for him to find. Probably Sully. Shaking his head, Booth clenched and unclenched his fist as he stared at the photo. It wasn't funny… not even a little bit.

Reaching up to take the earbuds off, Booth shook his head in frustrated annoyance. Sully really had gone too far this time. While it was true that Sully knew Booth liked jokes as much as the next guy, his partner should've known better. Sully knew how serious this case was for all of them. It was simply *not* a joking matter. He should've known better than to bait Booth about *this*. That fact established, Booth decided that maybe Sully really was worried about how personally he was taking this case if he thought his partner needed some distracted amusement via this type of practical joke. Setting aside the fact that it wasn't funny in the slightest, not even in the ironic/mocking sort of what in which Booth surmised it had been intended, it was touching from a certain point of view. Sully cared about him. That thought sobered Booth, but then he looked at the picture, and he decided Sully still needed to pay. Thus, Booth was in the middle of thinking of ways in which he would take his revenge upon his warped and twisted partner's sense of humor when he heard the door pop open. Standing up, Booth quickly stuffed the photo in his pocket and prepared an appropriate response to let Sully know the jig was up, and his joke wasn't as entertaining as he hoped it had been.

Expecting the source of his interruption it to be Sully, Booth called out without looking, "Great timing as normal, Sully. You asshole, I found your little joke—"

Raising his eyes to meet those of the person who had interrupted the sanctity of his investigation as he processed the evidence, Booth suddenly realized he was *not* staring at the well-known eyes of his partner. No, instead, he found himself face-to-face with another set of eyes that he had been desperate to find for days. And, now that he was finally confronted with them, Booth was slightly shocked and didn't know what to do... particularly when the eyes stared just as widely in shock back at Booth. For a split second, Booth thought that the newcomer was even more surprised to see Booth than Booth was to see him, but quickly shook it off. How could he not know the FBI was there given what the annoying junior-in-training perky squint had said?

Finally, the stunned arrival spoke, in reply to Booth's jeer. "You are *not* supposed to be here," came the response.

Booth frowned at the words, suddenly realizing his initial instinct had been correct. The hostile tone of the interloper, combined with his defensive stance, served to tell Booth... whatever conversation was about to transpire, it wasn't going to be a good one. Not casual or congenial, this conversation was going to be trouble. And, apparently - and somewhat ironically - would it apparently be because of Booth's actions. The small hairs on the back of his neck standing up straight on end as a confirmation of the warning already registered by his instincts, Booth's basic survival training kicked in, and he pushed his shock away. Falling back on old habits and a detached field mindset, Booth began to assess his surroundings and tried to deflect the man's attention with verbal cues as he figured out how to handle the situation.

The first sound Booth made in response to the aggressive claim was a casual laugh. Deflect and distract... that's what he needed to do. Booth followed the chuckle with a smirk before he finally said, "Yeah, well, I'm like that sometimes. Always showing up where I'm not welcome."

"My graduate assistant said that you were the flunky and that the lead investigator had gone to the FBI field office and wouldn't be back from some time. That's the only reason I cam down here. I wanted to talk to a dumb flunky, not to you. What'd you tell her your name was again? Both?"

"*Booth*," he corrected. "As in *Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI*."

"Whatever your name is, and it's nice to finally know at last, it doesn't really matter. You're not supposed to be here. Why are you here? Why am I talking to you? Can you explain that please? I shouldn't be talking to you."

"Well, sorry about that," Booth said, noting the unrestrained aggression and growing hostility present in the man's voice. "But, seeing as how I'm the only person that's here, if you want to talk to the FBI, you'll have to talk to me, I'm afraid."

"You're not even supposed to be here," came the response again. "I don't know how or why… but you aren't supposed to be *here*."

"You keep saying that like it's supposed to mean something," Booth said confused. "I have a perfectly legitimate and authorized reason to be going through this evidence."

"I don't mean the goddamn boxes of Tempe's stuff," Michael Stires said, waving his hand dismissively. "How is it that you're here right now?"

Stires looked down, and began to mutter to himself. "I just don't get it. How is this possible?"

"How is what possible, Dr. Stires?"

His head snapping up at his name, Stires stopped muttering and began to pace back in front of the conference room's door, in short straight strokes. "I thought I hit you hard enough," he muttered. "I *know* I hit you hard enough. There's no way you should have been able to survive a blow like that. I know I hit her just as hard as I hit you, and since I know she's dead, you should be, too. Your skull should have shattered into a dozen tiny fractures."

At Stires' words, Booths suddenly had to fight away a blinding flash of pure red rage.

"What are you talking about, Dr. Stires?"

Stires stopped pacing and looked up at Booth, suddenly seeming to remember that he was still there. The venom clearly evident in his voice, Stires replied, "I wanted you dead. You're *supposed* to be dead. You're not supposed to be here because you're not supposed to be alive. Why are you here? How is it that you're alive?"

"What?"

"You're supposed to be *dead*," Stires repeated. "*Dead*... as in deceased, no longer living."

"What in the hell are you saying?" Booth said, fighting the urge to vomit again. Stires words made no sense to him. He was speaking gibberish. There's no way he could know Booth, but, thinking of the picture in his pocket, the bewilderment Booth had felt before Stires entered the room returned. Sully had been right about one thing. Stires was the key to understanding what had happened to Brennan... and to figuring out the identity of the mystery man Joanna Staines had mentioned. Booth had to keep Stires talking, and despite his own bewilderment, pressed on. "Look, Dr. Stires—"

"If I had known you were still alive before you showed up here, I wouldn't have let a loose end like that go untied, by the way," Stires said, as he resumed his pacing. "But, I didn't know who you were or where you lived, so I couldn't really follow up. I mean, in all the coverage, I never read anything about them finding a second body, but I figured they just chalked it up to two unrelated homicides once I dumped her at the Jeffersonian." He stopped moving and then spun on his heels to face Booth. "I made a mistake in that, you know? People always say I never admit it when I'm wrong, but I can. I just did. I should've made sure you were dead. But, hell, I didn't even know what you did for a living until five minutes ago," Stires said.

Pausing for breath, he gave Booth a look that seemed to be sizing him up as he glanced up and down the agent's physique. At last, with a sneer of his lips, Stires commented, "I have to say, I'm kinda surprised by that one. I mean, one look at you. and I can see why Tempe was into you physically. You match her type perfectly. But, a *cop*? Come on."

"What's wrong with cops, Dr. Stires?" Booth asked.

"Because," Stires said, the disgust and repugnance clearly evident in his voice. "Cops... people like you? They're just so... *common*. And, Tempe... she's never… she never slummed that *low* before with someone so far... so inferior to her in so many ways. Not the least of which was her IQ level—" Stires said.

Starting to field his anger rise again, but also not wanting to compromise their investigation by saying or doing something untoward to a man who was spewing incoherent nonsense, Booth said, "Look, Dr. Stires. I don't know who you think I am, but I'm getting pretty sick and tired of you squints thinking you can call me stupid. Just because I don't have a bunch of hoity toity letters after my name doesn't mean that I barely have enough brain power to walk and chew gum at the same time."

"Ahh, and there goes your attempt at using advanced vocabularly. 'Hoity toity'. How charming," Stires sighed in resignation. "I still can't believe what Tempe saw in you," Stires said, shaking his head. Then, suddenly, it snapped up again, as Stires' tone changed again. "You must have been a great lay because I can't think of anything else that would have made her chose you over me—"

"Why do you keep saying that?" Booth asked, incredulously. *His* confusion... and Stires increasingly erratic behavior inciting Booth's anger were beginning to be a bit much for even someone with Booth's extensive training to compartmentalize. "Who in the hell do you think I am?"

"I know exactly who you are, Agent Booth, is it?" Stires spat. "What I want to know is why are you playing stupid with me now? Do you think if you pretend not to remember me, not to know who I am, that I'll slip up and confess something? Is that it? Is there a recorder hidden somewhere?" Stires mocked him.

"I'm not playing stupid. I seriously don't know what the hell you've said for about half the time since you walked through that door," Booth replied honestly. He stopped and said, "But, if you want to confess to something, by all means, feel free," Booth said.

"I didn't want to have to do this here," Stires muttered, crossing his arms and shaking his head again. " I honestly thought it would be a routine conversation with some federal flatfoot drone like it was the last time... like it's been every time they come to me since she died."

"Sorry to disappoint," Booth said, letting some of his anger and annoyance creep into his voice.

Stires looked up at him and again muttered, "I knew they always suspected me, but they could never get enough evidence to prove it beyond a reasonable shadow of a doubt. I'm just too good like that. I made certain there would never be enough proof to link me to her death."

"No one's that good, Stires," Booth said evenly.

Stires refocused his attention on Booth as he said, "I don't know how you got involved in this, but I'm not going to make the same mistake I made six years ago."

"And, what mistake is that?"

"Haven't you been listening to a single word I've said?" Stires asked in disbelief. "I mean, come on. I know you're not a genius like Tempe or me, but you should at least have *some* basic analytical skills."

"Maybe if you didn't ramble and mutter like some lunatic out of the insane asylum, I'd know what in the hell you were saying," Booth retorted.

"Fine," Stires said. "You don't like words... then how about actions, Agent Booth?"

Suddenly, Booth felt the world spin just a bit, as the game changed once again. It happened so quickly, if it hadn't been for the many years he had spent being trained to react in situations exactly like this one, Booth wouldn't have had time to draw his own gun before he realized that Stires had magically produced a 9mm out of thin air and was pointing it at him.

Holding his own sidearm trained on Stires' head, Booth leveled the gun for a clean shot. Not breaking eye contact with his target, Booth again tried to defuse the situation. "Okay, now, before when you were just insulting me? That was something I could overlook and just chalk up to dense squint lack of social skills. But, *that*-" Booth tilted his head in the direction of where Stires was pointing the gun at him. "That's something I'm afraid I can't overlook, Dr. Stires. Now, I'm not sure what's going on, or who you think I am, but I it's my duty to remind you that I'm a federal agent who also happens to be an expert marksman... and threatening me with a gun is really the last thing you really want to do."

"Oh, I'm not too worried," Stires chuckled. "You think you're a good shot? Well, I am, too. And, all I need is one... which, by the way, I think it's my duty to tell you, that I've got my gun aimed straight at your heart."

"Stires-"

"Shut up!" Stires roared. "You ruined my life six years ago, and you sure as hell aren't going to do it again. I've spent a lot of blood, sweat, and tears rebuilding my life since you took her away from me... when you made me do what I had to do. I'm not going to lose it again. *Not* again and definitely*not* because of *you*. Not again."

"Why do you keep saying that? What do you think I did to you? Who do you think I am exactly?" Booth couldn't help but ask, as he desperately tried to get some logical meaning out of Stires' insane ramblings.

"Feigning amnesia really is a waste of time. We both know you don't have any memory problems," Stires spat at him. He then considered his words and amended with a shrug, "Or, maybe you do, if I hit you that hard, and you managed to survive. I don't know, and I really don't care."

"Stires-"

"-all I do know is that she would have come back to me if you hadn't gotten in the way. Who in the hell do you think you are, anyway?" Stires yelled at him. "A woman like Tempe? She was out of your league from the very first moment you two came into contact. What even made you think a peon like you deserved her? You shouldn't have even said one grunt to her. You didn't deserve to even speak with her."

"Dr. Stires, I'm warning you, you need to put down the gun, *now*."

"She didn't belong with you," Stires ranted. "She was *mine*, and I'm going to very much enjoy shooting you to death because there is no way in hell that now I know that you're alive that you're going to get away with having taken her away from me," Stires rambled.

Looking in his eyes, Booth found himself slightly shocked as he finally realized that, from his point of view, even though what Stires was saying made no logical sense, *Stires* himself believed the truth of it. Booth prided himself on being able to read people, especially criminals. And, the one thing that Booth saw blazing in Stires fevered eyes was honesty, truth. Stires *believed* the rants he was spewing at Booth.

"I had nothing to do with your relationship with Dr. Brennan," Booth said carefully.

At this, Stires barked a laugh. "Like hell you didn't. I saw you that night, remember? I saw you with her… in bed… on *top* of her. You were touching her, grunting at her, inside her… you bastard."

"No, you're mistaken-"

"I *saw* you. I *heard* you... and her. She was moaning *your* name!" Stires stopped at this and considered his words. His tone softened a bit as he said, "Why was she willing to give you what she wouldn't give me? She was making sounds for you that she should have only been making with me, because of me. But, no. She chose you, not me. Why? Can you tell me that, at least? I have to admit, after all this time, that's the one question, the only one, really, that I'd like to have an answer to... why did she chose you over me?"

"I don't-"

"It makes no sense… none whatsoever. It's not logical or in any way rational. I'm smarter than you are. I knew her better than you ever could. I would have made her happy. But, no. She didn't want that, she didn't want *me*. So, she chose you. I still wouldn't believe it, but, I saw it, and I heard it, and I know. I saw *you* with *her*... like that, and I know... and it makes me sick thinking about it even now."

"Whatever you think you saw, Stires, whoever you think you saw, it wasn't me—" Booth began.

"Stop saying that!" Stires screamed. "It was you. I *know* it was you. Just as honestly as I know that the moment she gave herself to you that she was never going to come back to me… and that's when I knew she had to die." He stopped and looked up at Booth, tears starting to fill his eyes. "You made me do it, you know? I wouldn't have had to hurt her like that if it weren't for you-"

At this, Booth felt the flame of red, hot angry rage flare again in the pit of his stomach. "Be very careful about what you're saying, Dr. Stires. I'm a federal law enforcement official. If you're confessing to the murder of Dr. Temperance Brennan, I'll have no choice but to arrest you—"

"She deserved to die when she did that… betrayed me. She deserved to die, and so did you. So *do* you. And, I don't know why she's still dead, and you're not, but like I said, I'm not going to leave this loose end unattended again because only one of us is going to leave this room alive," Stires said, adjusting his aim at Booth.

Not breaking eye contact with Stires, but still mindful of his surroundings, Booth saw another movement out of the corner of his peripheral vision. This time, thankfully, it wasn't the normal image of his dead mother's ghost playing he saw. No, instead, this time, out of the corner of his eye, Booth saw the brief image of his concerned partner looking on through the glass window of the conference room's door. Gun drawn, Sully registered the fact that Booth had seen him as soon as it happened. Giving his partner just enough of a nod to confirm Sully's unasked question, Booth remained focused on Stires, who was still ranting. Hoping to by Sully a few seconds, Booth tried to reason with the insane Stires one last time.

"Listen, Dr. Stires. I'm not certain what's going on here, but I'm going to have to ask you to put down your gun-" Booth began, counting to ten to give Sully a few more seconds so that they timed this right. They'd get only one chance.

"—the only thing I'm going to do is make sure I send you straight to hell like I didn't six years ago, you stupid son-of-a-bitch…." Stires grunted. He moved to pull his trigger, and as Stires, acted, so did Booth and Sully.

In a flash, it was over. Three sets of sound had pierced the air at almost the same time. Booth's brain didn't process what he had seen because it happened so quickly, even though his instincts told him that Sully had moved in tandem with his partner.

Instead, not to be distracted, all Booth had concentrated on was taking his shot, and making it count. One-two-three… blood roared in his ears as he saw Stires' finger clench around the trigger. Sully's sudden entrance, however, had startled him, and Stires jerked his hand as he fired his gun. Booth didn't. Taking his shot, Booth saw Stires drop down as blood began to pool underneath him, forming a darkening puddle around his head. The sight brought a certain sense of grim satisfaction to Booth. He knew then that not only had he taken his shot, but he made it count… one bullet straight to the center of Stires' forehead and through the brain.

As soon as his brain processed what had happened, Sully moved forward and was bending down next to Stires' body. He placed two fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse.

Booth remained standing in exactly the same position he had held as he fired, gun still aimed high. His eyes glanced over at this partner as Sully looked up at him and shook his head.

"He's dead."

"It was a kill shot," Booth breathed. "I couldn't take any chances."

"I know," Sully said, holstering his gun. "I saw everything."

Taking a step, towards Booth, Sully nodded at his friend and partner as he said, "You okay?"

Almost as if they were a magic spell, Booth started to hear the roaring in his ears retreat a bit as he shook his head, "Yeah, I think... maybe."

"Booth? What in the hell happened?" Sully asked.

"Stires, he, ah... came in and just sorta went nuts," Booth breathed, suddenly wondering when talking had become so difficult to do.

"Man, Caroline is gonna be pissed," Sully said with a shake of his head. "Didn't she tell you not to shoot anyone?"

"Uh, yeah," Booth muttered. "I think... Um... Sul?"

"You okay there, Booth? I know it's the adrenaline, but I need you to stick with me. This is going to mean a hell of a lot of paperwork."

The world starting to swim in and out of focus, Booth blinked a few times as he said, "Yeah, about that paperwork, Sully..."

"Booth? You sure you're okay?" Sully asked, taking a step towards his friend, as he suddenly noticed Booth's odd response.

"I, ah… I don't know, Sul. I think-"

Lowering his gun, Booth felt the wave of nausea and weakness and overwhelming confusion that had been threatening to sweep over him finally crash into him. Booth staggered a bit as he slumped forward towards his partner.

"Booth!" Sully yelled.

Looking down, Booth suddenly realized that there was a rational explanation, at least, for why he was suddenly feeling lightheaded. A small spot of dark red had soaked through his shirt, and Booth thought, as he fell to a knee, and Sully reached forward at almost the exact same moment to catch him, that rapid blood loss does logically explain why he felt like he was going to be sick and fall asleep at exactly the same time.

One last thought registered in his mind – when did he suddenly get so thirsty?

Then, Booth gazed at his partner's concerned face once more before he stopped fighting and gave in, grateful to let the welcome darkness claim him at last.

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	14. Ch 14: The Murder of the Bones Explained

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

A/N: I know I had posted a brief note somewhere on one this chapter's earlier drafts, but it seems to have disappeared, and since I'm not sure what happened to it, I'll try again. Anyhoo... once more, everyone's response and feedback has been AMAZING. The general consensus seems to be confusion, so I guess that's a good thing from my point of view as an author, if it keeps everyone coming back for more, right? Thanks to everyone who's left feedback for me... as I said, it really helps more than you can possibly realize, so please do keep it up. Hopefully, this chapter doesn't disappoint. Now, getting on with things, here we go...~

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><p>Chapter 14 – The Murder of the Bones Explained<p>

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><p>"You know, when you called me and told me that you wanted to meet here, I just thought it was because of your warped sense of humor, cher. I didn't think you'd actually gone all noble on me after all these years and become a righteous man of the cloth," Caroline Julian said, as she moved towards where a familiar looking older man sat on a bench in a grotto dedicated to the Virgin Mary.<p>

Looking up at her with a smile, he responded wryly, "The 'righteous' part probably fits, but I don't know if I'd go with the 'man of the cloth' bit quite yet, Caroline."

"So, this your way of telling me that you haven't joined the priesthood, Max?" Caroline said, as she moved to sit next to him on the bench, setting her purse by her feet and clutching a file folder to her chest. "Please tell me that you did not use that old pipe of yours to hit some evil preacher on the head and take his cassock from him."

"No," Max Kennan laughed. "They know who I am here at St. Augustine's... and they're fine with how things are."

"And, how's that?"

"I come and go," Max said. "Mostly more of the coming and staying put, and less of the going, though, except when I go to see Russ."

"Then, you're just playing at being a kindly father-figure?" Caroline asked.

"Mostly," Max admitted.

"I still don't believe it," Caroline said, shaking her head. "I never thought you'd be the type to turn to God for comfort."

"Maybe if it had just been Christine that I lost, sure... I can see why you'd think that. It would have been hard. Hell, it *was* hard. But, I would've found a way to deal with it that didn't necessitate me tucking my tail between my legs and running. When I lost Tempe, too, though, it was just... it was just like I'd failed with Christine all over again. But, this time it wasn't just Christine that was gone, it was our baby girl. So, yeah. Suffice to say, I haven't made things official, but I get as close to feeling some semblance of peace here as I ever have as compared with being anywhere else, and peace is an important thing for me the older I get."

"She's why you called me, out of the blue, after all this time, isn't it?

"Yes," Max said. "I don't know whether to kiss you silly or shake you senseless for putting that kid on the case, Caroline. He's either brilliant or a bit crazy."

"Aren't the best of us, cher?" Caroline said, with a bit of her piqued interest revealed in her voice. "When did you meet Booth?"

"A few weeks ago," Max said. "It was by accident, really. Or, fate, maybe. Who knows at this point?"

"He's a good boy, but-"

"But?"

"He's not the only reason you called me," Caroline told him.

"No," Max said. "The past week or so, I've started to hear some rumors. About Tempe."

"Imagine that," Caroline said. "Huh. Rumors, right?"

"Yeah," Max said. "I still keep my ear to the ground in some... specific circles. And, I'm hearing some things. Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"Did Booth find the evidence that conclusively proves that stupid bastard Michael Stires killed my little girl and her baby in cold blood?"

Clearly surprised, Caroline said, "Now, how did you know about *that*?"

"About what?"

"About that fact that your daughter was, to say it as delicately as possible, enciente, when Stires killed her? Because, I *know* that no matter how good your gossip network may be, it's not that good. There are only a few people who could have told you that little detail, Max."

"Does it really matter how I know?' Max asked.

"Yes."

"Well, then, let's just say I know some people," Max replied.

"You 'know some people' my left foot. Seeley Booth's just got a big mouth, that's all," Caroline muttered.

"Caroline," Max said, the exasperation evident in his voice. "It's not that big a deal, is it? Can't you just answer my question?"

"Yes, it *is* a big deal. I can't have FBI agents shooting off their mouths about confidential pieces of evidence just because Booth decided he wanted to bond with you... Unless, you tricked him?" Caroline said.

"I didn't."

"Good," Caroline said. "Now, I'll only have to yell at him for having a big mouth as opposed to being stupid, too. And, that, cher, as you well know, is something I just can't tolerate." Then, softening her tone, Caroline inclined her head as she said, "And, yes, he did."

A quick breath shot out of Max's lips. Shaking his head, his lips pursing in anger, Max forced himself to reply, "Thank you, Caroline." Moving to stand up, his fists clinched behind his back, Max only stopped when Caroline called out.

"Now, wait right there, Max Keenan," Caroline said.

"What?"

"Don't you go thinking you can go hopping on the first plane headed west to go track down Stires, like the dog he was, and hitting him over the head with your trusty rusted pipe," Caroline told him.

"Why not?" Max said. "He killed my little girl, Caroline. And, if you seriously think I'm going to let something like that go unanswered, close friend or not, officer of the court or not, you've got another thing coming..."

"I know that," Caroline said, as she stood up and handed Max a file folder. "But, there's no reason for you to."

"Why?"

"Because, that stuck pig Michael Stires is already roasting in hell, where he belongs, cher," Caroline said.

Taking the folder, Max stared at it, and then began to flip through it.

Caroline watched his reaction carefully before she said, "He's dead, Max."

"Booth?"

Caroline nodded. "He saved you the trouble of having to do the dirty little deed and then waste all that time and energy figuring out a way to legally get off for murder."

"How?"

"The details are all there," Caroline said. "You can keep that copy."

Closing the folder, Max said, "He's a good man."

"He is," Caroline responded.

"You know, I just wish... I just wish he could have met her a little sooner, Caroline."

"Why's that, cher?"

"Because," Max said. "When she was younger? Tempe was so full of life... and even though she was bossy and too smart for her own good sometimes, when she was around people that she loved and cared about, there was this different side to her that not a lot of people got to see. Even after her mother and I had to leave her, she still held onto it. I know... I *know* if she could have met a man like Booth and settled down with him, had a family, maybe? If she'd done that, the side of her that I knew, the one that was funny and trusting and spontaneous... and so full of life? It would've made her a completely different woman. She... he just would've been good for her. Booth, he... h-he would have taken care of Tempe. He... h-he would have protected her. They would've been good together."

"You're probably right because Booth is a good man, and I'm sorry about what happened to her to and that you'll never know for sure. But... everything else aside, don't forget that Booth didn't do what he did in avenging your daughter's death without a price, Max," Caroline said.

"Oh?"

"Read the file," Caroline said. "And, if you've got the touch of style that I know you do, you'll send flowers. And, not the cheap ones. It's appropriate."

With that, Caroline, reaching down to grab her purse, nodded once at Max, and then waltzed past him and out of the grotto, leaving Max alone to look at the file as she had told him. Sitting down, Max began to read. When he reached the end of the report summary, Max shook his head slowly. "Oh, kid... what did you do?"

* * *

><p>When Seeley Booth became aware of his surroundings, a bright white light overwhelmed him. The intensity of the light piercing his sensitive irises caused him to cry out in pain.<p>

"For God sake's, Sully, I asked you to adjust the blinds because it's too damn dreary in here, but I didn't want you to blind me," Booth muttered.

Sheepishly, Special Agent Tim Sullivan quickly pulled at the blinds to adjust them once again. "Sorry, Booth. This thing's a little tricky. Is that any better?"

Covering his eyes with his good hand to offer some shade against the bright light's onslaught, Booth gingerly opened them. Not feeling another wave of painful sunlight blind him, Booth nodded as he responded, "Yeah, that's good, I think."

Coming back towards hospital bed, Sully nodded.

"Thanks," Booth told him.

"No problem," Sully replied. "Anything to help my invalid partner."

"No, Sully," Booth said, a trace of solemnity coming into his voice. "*Thanks*," he repeated.

"For what?" Sully asked. "They're just blinds, Booth."

"Not the damn blinds," Booth said, gesturing with his good hand. "I meant... at the Foundation... with Stires. You... you saved my life. So, thanks."

"Oh," Sully said, blushing a bit. "Well, no problem, Booth. You're welcome... but it's not a big deal."

"Yes, it was," Booth insisted. "So, just the same, thanks."

"Well," Sully said. "What was a I supposed to do? Just let you bleed out on the floor? Partners... they sorta don't do that to each other unless they really, really hate each other, as opposed to the minor repugnance I feel for you," Sully joked. "Besides, I really don't want to have to go through the hassle of breaking in another newbie..."

"Sully," Booth said.

Looking up, Sully turned serious. "You're welcome, Booth." He paused and then added, "I'd like to think you'd have done the same for me if the roles were reversed."

"Of course," Booth said. "We're partners. That's what we do, right?"

"Right," Sully said.

"But, partners, or not, if you don't stop looking at my pudding like the vulture you are... or if you even try to touch my pudding one more time, and I don't know how, but I swear to God, I'm going to get up out of this bed and kick your ass, Sully," Booth's voice rang out.

Laughing, Sully let the seriousness of the earlier comment fade away as he gestured at the stack of chocolate and vanilla pudding cups that sat piled in front of Booth. "You know, I remember how good this stuff was the last time you screwed up, drove the SUV into the embankment, and I'm the one who ended up in the hospital with the broken leg."

"I did *not* screw up-"

"You didn't turn right when I told you to, and the perp hit us on the left side and blew out our tires, remember?" Sully said. Wincing a bit at the memory, Sully rubbed his own thigh as he said, "God, that hurt... but, the pudding, it almost made it all worth it. Remember, Booth?"

"Yeah, I do," Booth said, taking his spoon and hitting the top of his partner's hand as Sully's other arm had sneaked forward as he hoped his words would verbally distract Booth. "And, it *is* as good as you remember. Now, stop that because you're still not getting any of mine. Why don't you tell me what the good word is instead?"

Sully winced, lightly rubbed his hand where Booth had hit it, but then inclined his head at his partner as he said, "You mean, aside from the fact that even in his hospital bed my partner is a selfish prig?"

"Yeah, besides that," Booth said, putting down the spoon and reaching for the pudding container. Fumbling with the lid, he finally scowled at Scully.

"Need some help, Booth?" Sully asked, smiling.

"Maybe," Booth finally muttered. "But, I'm not asking for any if that means I have to share my pudding. I'll wait for the nurse instead."

"God, you are *such* a *big* baby," Sully said. Laughing, he took the pudding top, popped it off, and slid it back in Booth's direction. Booth reached for his spoon and began to eat it as Sully looked on in amusement.

"So, the good word, as you put it, is pretty much what we'd expected. Cullen's had to put you on automatic suspension with pay pending the IA investigation into Stires' death. But, since you're going to be cooped up here for a while, I'd imagine that will help cut down on some of the time you've got to cool your heels on leave, so, hopefully it won't be too terrible," Sully said.

"I'm not staying here," Booth said immediately. "As soon as I can get off these goddamn pain meds and the furniture stops feeling friendly, I'm going back to DC."

"No, you're not," Sully said.

"Yes, I am," Booth said. "I don't like it here. Remember when I said I thought Chicago's a great city? Well, I lied... or changed my mind. Whatever. It's not. I want out of here. I want to leave this damn city and its friggin' crazy people, and I want to go home."

"I understand that, Booth, but-"

"I want to go home," Booth repeated. "It's not like you're going to stop me, Sul."

"Actually, I can if I have to. With Stires' impromptu confession there, it pretty much wraps up the investigation into the Brennan murder. I can write reports and file paperwork just as easily from here as I can from the Hoover," Sully said. "So, yeah, if I have to stay here and babysit you so that you don't leave before the doctors say it's okay to discharge you, I can and will, Booth."

"You're not staying," Booth said. "You're going home and so am I. I don't want to stay in this goddamn city one more minute than I have to—"

"You were shot, Booth," Sully interrupted. "Two more centimeters to the right, and he would have hit your subclavian artery, Booth. You know how close you came to bleeding out?"

"You know, Sul, you really need to stop talking to Camille and learning these new and exciting squint terms of yours. It was a flesh wound," Booth said.

"For God sake's, Booth, give me a little credit here. I *am* trained as an EMT, you know. If I wasn't there, you could have bled out anyway—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, Sul. Sorry I forgot about your summer job #216," Booth said, dismissively. "As I said earlier, thank you for saving me life. It was a hell of a thing to do."

"I know I've said it before, and I'm sure I'll say it again, but I think it bears repeating. You're such a dick sometimes," Sully said. Sighing, he said, "Look, best I can do once we get the doc's okay is to see if maybe I can get you transferred to a hospital in DC. Would that make Your Highness feel any better?"

Booth considered it for a moment before he said, "Yes, it would."

"Okay," Sully said with a nod. "Let me see what I can do."

Standing, Sully turned to exit the room.

"Hey, Sul?" Booth called.

Turning around, Sully looked at his partner and said, "Yeah, Booth?"

"Thanks," Booth said, his tone different than before. "For everything," he said, genuine emotion unusually coloring his tone.

"You said that already. Both for real and in mocking," Sully replied.

"Well, I'm saying it again... for real. Just so that there's no confusion," Booth said.

Nodding at him again, Sully said, "You're my partner, Booth. Like I said, that's what partners do, you know?"

"Even still," Booth said. "Thanks."

Sully looked at him for a minute more, smiled, and then turned to leave.

* * *

><p>Several hours later, Booth sat propped up in the hospital bed and reached to pull the lap top closer to him.<p>

"Careful there, Booth. You keep juggling that thing while we've got an uplink, and you're going to give me motion sickness," Cam's voice came over the computer.

Looking at the laptop, Booth frowned. "Sorry, Cam." He then adjusted the screen once more and said, "Is that any better?"

Cam's image played over the screen, as she said, "Boy, you look like crap, Seeley."

"I was just shot, Camille, but thank you for the caring sentiment," Booth said. "So, Sully said you squints had something you wanted to tell me?"

"Yeah," Cam said. "Although considering what's happened in the last twenty-four hours, it's become a lot less important than it was and a probably fairly redundant."

"What'd you find, Camille?"

"COD for Temperance Brennan," Cam said. "We missed it the first time because of the damage of the .22 that was inflicted post-mortem in exactly the same spot."

"Stires already told me. He… he killed Brennan when he hit her with something," Booth said quietly.

"We determined as much," Cam said. "The blow to the base of the skull resulted in an acute subdural hematoma. It was blunt force trauma, pure and simple."

"Well, damage to a skull like that is never just 'pure and simple', Camille, dear," a British voice chimed in off-screen.

"Wexler?" Booth called.

Dr. Ian Wexler's head popped into view. "Hello, Agent Booth. How are you feeling?"

"Like I was skewered by a 9mm bullet in my shoulder that's on fire, thanks for asking, though," Booth replied.

A nurse who had been taking Booth's vitals, and adjusting his IV, glanced at him with a concerned and somewhat disapproving look, but remained silent. Booth flashed a smile at her and then turned his attention to the laptop again when the nurse moved to exit the room.

"What else can you tell me?" Booth said.

"About COD?" Cam asked.

Booth nodded.

Looking at Wexler, she nodded and said, "That one's to you, Ian."

"It was a single blow, probably made by some type of hammer," Wexler said. "Judging by the anterior skull fracture pattern, Stires knew exactly how to hit her and at what strength to make certain she never stood a chance."

Booth's forehead furrowed in concern. Even via the remote connection, Cam noticed. Trying to offer him some comfort, Cam said, "It was fast, Seeley. She probably never even knew what had happened. I don't think she would have felt any pain."

"And, the coffin?" Booth ground out. He was clenching his fists out of sight of the laptop camera as he struggled to maintain his normal demeanor.

"It was definitely tampered with," Cam said. "Probably within a few weeks of her burial. I can't prove it, but if Stires messed with the burial in order to get the .22 slug back, it would explain why the seal on the casket was broken. We're not certain how he pulled it off… maybe used some of the Foundation's money to aid in the cover up? But, I can see why Stires thought it was a good idea. If the original ME was racing through the autopsy, either purposely because Stires paid him off, or just because he did shoddy work, he missed the original bullet, embedded in the bone like it was. So, Stires knew he had to get it back, had enough knowledge because of his anthropology training to do it, especially since he knew exactly where to look. He got the slug, eliminating the only physical evidence that could link him to the murder. Disturbing her remains post-burial also gave him an added benefit that I'm sure he thought was a good thing. He probably believed that compromising the remains would destroy any other evidence he might have overlooked… just in case."

"Is that all?" Booth asked.

Suddenly, Booth saw Cam pushed out of the way as a very familiar voice rang out and responded in her stead. "No, it's not, Booth."

Groaning, Booth forced a smile as he said, "Hello, Caroline."

"I thought I told you not to shoot anyone," Caroline glared.

A bit sheepish, Booth reminded her, "You told me not to shoot anyone unless I really had to, Caroline. He kinda was a bit hung-up on the whole killing me thing, so I really sorta had to shoot him first."

"You're very lucky you are seven hundred miles away from me right now, Booth, or else I would be unleashing my great displeasure at you in person. You have made my life very, very difficult with this latest little escapade of yours," Caroline sighed..

"Sorry, Caroline," Booth said contritely. He would later find it ironic that he was the one sitting in a hospital bed with a gunshot wound, having caught Brennan's murder (in a manner of speaking) and yet *he* was the one apologizing. Only Caroline Julian could pull that off, Booth thought slightly amused.

Turning around, Booth's saw Caroline's back as she bellowed, "You three. Scram. I need to talk to Booth alone… err, as alone as possible as I can over a link like this."

Cam's head popped up over Caroline's shoulder. "We'll call you later, Booth. Let us know if you need anything, okay?"

"Thanks, Cam," Booth said.

"I meant alone as in *now*, cherie," Caroline scowled at Cam.

A series of rapid shuffling noises sounded, and then Caroline was staring at Booth in a very imperious manner.

"Don't think that I'm just annoyed at you, cher. I'm going to have a good talking to Sully when he gets back, too. I told him to do one thing before he left, and that was make sure you stayed out of trouble," Caroline said.

Laughing, Booth said, "Well, from that perspective, he did. Stires is the one who found *me*, Caroline. If Sully hadn't come back when he did, who knows what would have happened."

"Yeah, well, that still leaves the matter of all this extra paperwork that your little jaunt has caused me. Do you know how much I've been dealing with the press on this one? They're having a field day with me, and that's just the ones that are here in DC... and we haven't even confirmed that Stires' death was related to the Brennan homicide," Caroline said. She looked up sharply and said, "They haven't been bothering you, have they?"

"Nope," Booth said, shaking his head. "It's been… unusually quiet on that front. Not even a single email or text."

"Heh, yeah, well, that's probably because the only agent's name they got was Sully's. We've managed to keep your name out of it so far," Caroline said.

"Thanks, Caroline."

"Don't thank me, cher. You're still on suspension with pay. I just got out of a long meeting with Deputy Director Cullen about you, for which you also owe me dinner, by the way. Everything will work itself out, I'm sure, but you won't be getting your gun and badge back any time soon," Caroline said.

Booth shrugged. "Not like I can do much with either one right now."

"Yeah, right. Fine. Then get on with getting better, cher, so you're fit enough to be able to more than make things up to me when you get back to DC. I'll be in touch," Caroline said.

A moment later, the screen blinked out, and Booth was left alone. Yawning, Booth briefly wondered what time it was because he suddenly was feeling very tired... and something seemed to be dulling his senses. Then, one minute Booth was awake and alone, but holding the laptop. The next minute, he was opening his eyes, and Sully was sitting next to him.

"Evening, sleeping beauty," Sully said.

Yawning, Booth sat up in bed and said, "Did you have that nurse sneak a roofie into my IV?"

"Maybe," Sully said. "You needed some sleep."

"How long was I out?"

"A few hours," Sully shrugged.

"I'm hungry," Booth said, realizing his stomach was growling.

Reaching down, Sully lifted a white plastic bag off the floor. "I figured as much. A man cannot survive on pudding alone, after all."

"What'd ya bring me?" Booth grinned, in a decidedly better mood than he had been earlier in the day.

"Chinese take-out. What else?" Sully chuckled.

"You know, Sully. If I were into guys, I think I might marry you," Booth said, reaching into the bag and pulling out an egg roll. Biting down on it, Booth sighed in contentment as he said, "I think I might love you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Sully laughed. "I bet you say that to all your partners."

Grinning, a flower arrangement that hadn't been there before caught Booth's eyes when Sully moved. He nodded and asked, "Who's that from? Because, I have to say, all joking aside, if you're bring me red roses like that, I'm going to have to admit that I'm feeling a bit uncomfortable, Sul."

Looking over, Sully shrugged. "I don't know who sent them. The nurse brought them in about a half hour ago. The card wasn't signed."

"Give it to me," Booth said, curiosity piqued.

Opening the envelope, Booth saw an unfamiliar black masculine scrawl staring back at him. The card only held only two short sentences, but Booth immediately knew whom it was from, and the words brought back his earlier turmoil and confusion over the conversation with Stires that he still hadn't given specifics about to anyone, not even Sully.

_You did for her what I couldn't and that means more to me than you'll ever know. Thank you._

Looking at his partner's reaction, Sully knew Booth was lying as soon as he got a response to the question he asked.

"That mean anything to you?" Sully had inquired.

Shaking his head slowly, Booth replied. "I don't know, Sul. I just don't know."

* * *

><p>The next day, Max Keenan once more went to the grotto in what had become something of a daily habit for him. Unusually reflective and contemplative about life and his family, Max sat to think some more about the news recently imparted to him about his daughter. Prior to thinking he would have to be in a certain frame of mind if he was going to deal with Stires himself, Max hadn't allowed himself to really think about what Booth had told him. However, now that Stires was dead, and Max didn't have to lift a single finger, he decided to be a bit maudlin in his self-indulgence.<p>

Tempe... she had been *pregnant* when she died. *Pregnant*. His little girl.

Max shook his head sadly, and staring at the Virgin Mary statue, he thought sadly... if Tempe had been pregnant when she died... if she had lived... now, the baby would be almost five years old. His grandchild... he or she would have been old enough to be getting ready to start kindergarten. Max let a bit of sadness start to fall over him. Would it have been a boy or girl? What kind of mom would Tempe have been? He knew she would have been a great mom... but what type... better as a boy-mom or a girl-mom?

"You were always better at these things than I was," Max said, staring at the statue. "Is she with you, now, Christine? Are they? Because, sweetheart, if they are, I gotta say, it sounds like it's a whole hell of a lot better where you guys are then here... where I'm by myself. I mean, yeah... there's still Russ. And, I'm not gonna make the same mistake with him that I did with you two, but... Lord, I miss you."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Max was silent for a minute. "Please, Christine... if there's anything... *anything* you can do... this isn't right. This whole thing. I can feel it with every part of my being. It was a mistake."

Opening his eyes, Max stared at the statue again. "Holy Mother, I know you and I've never been on the best of speaking terms, but I know from all the time I've spent here that you're big on the whole forgiveness things. I also know I don't do this a lot, for myself... of my own volition. And, what I'm asking for might be considered a pretty tall order by some... an impossible miracle, really. But, my daughter... she was a good woman who didn't deserve what happened to her. I'm not sure what you might be able to do, but, please... please intercede on my behalf with your Son. Please... please.. for Tempe... help her. Please," Max prayed.

Lowering his head, Max closed his eyes again and started to pray the Hail Mary. He had been there for some time quietly reciting the prayer when he felt a soft breeze blow across his cheek. The breeze was followed by a soft touch, and Max's eyes slowly opened, brightening when he saw the person in front of him.

"Hey, sweetheart," Max whispered.

Caressing the other side of his cheek with the palm of her hand, Christine Brennan leaned down and brushed a kiss across her husband's lips. Standing back up, her long dark brown hair flowing in the breeze, wearing a purple knit dress, Christine's light blue eyes danced at she watched her husband's response to her arrival.

"I never took you for the praying kind, Max."

"Times changed, Christine... things happen... and people change."

Standing up, and crossing her hands in a matter-of-fact way that reminded Max painfully of his daughter, Christine nodded and said, "Well, then perhaps today *is* a day for miracles. Max Keenan has learned not only the value of prayer... but humility?'

"You know me, baby... I've always been humble," he said with a smirk.

"Ahh," Christine laughed. "There he is. There's the man I married."

"You heard me?" Max said, at last.

Christine nodded.

"Of course. I'm always listening. But, to answer the question you're really asking me, it's why I'm here," she said quietly. "I wanted to let you knowthat you're right."

"It was a mistake," Max whispered.

"Of the worst kind," Christine confirmed. "So grievous, in fact, that... we've been able to argue a case."

"A case for what?" Max questioned.

"I can't say, Max, not yet," Christine said. "And, maybe, if I'm right... you'll never have to know what it's like to be without them again. All of it will be fixed... hopefully."

"How?" Max asked. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No," Christine said. "Not really. Just keep thinking about her, loving her, honoring her memory, and, maybe another prayer or two couldn't hurt. They like that sorta thing."

"That's it?" Max replied. "That's all you can tell me?"

"Sorry, Max," Christine said softly. "At this point, there's really not much else to tell. Like I said... I'm working on something. It may not be much, but it'll at least give Tempe a chance... give *them* a chance."

"Oh, well, that's good, then, I guess," Max said. He was quiet for a few seconds before his head snapped up and he smiled at her. "God, I've missed you," Max said, suddenly.

Looking at him, Christine smiled. "I've missed you, too, Max. But, you know I'm always here with you, right? You're not alone. I'm always just a hop, skip, and a jump away."

"Even still, I've missed you, Christine... and I love you."

"I know," Christine said. "And, love, Max? That's the most important thing in the world. You know that, right? True love... it can make miracles happen."

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	15. Ch 15:  A Dream about the Bones

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

A/N: This chapter may require a slight suspension of disbelief to make it work for some of you. However, I promise... go ahead. Suspend disbelief. Trust me. You'll be much happier if you do. I promise. And, for the rest of you... remember... this is a supernatural/suspense story... which means translates as much goes unexplained, driving you nuts, almost to the point where you're dying because you want to find out the answer to the inexplicable. Good description, right? Tee hee. Okay, so here we go...

* * *

><p>Chapter 15 – A Dream about the Bones<p>

* * *

><p>A week later, Booth found himself back in DC, back at home, and all alone in his apartment, but for the company of various television cartoons and his pain meds. Booth hated taking them, but he knew from past experience, a gun shot wound was no laughing matter. He needed time to heal, and he couldn't heal if he never slept because he was always in pain. Reluctantly, he had acquiesed to both Sully and Cam's demands that he continue with the vicodin-induced haze that made him a bit too loopy even for pure amusement's sake, at least for a few days. By the end of the fifth day, Booth decided his actions had complied with his friends' requests long enough. His decision was fueled, in part, when one of his collectible bowling pins started to have a conversation with him, and Booth had actually started to talk back. Verbalizing hypothetical conversations with a dead woman was one thing, talking to inanimate objects another thing entirely, and so Booth began trying to wean himself off of the painkillers that were making him feel wonky.<p>

After two more days, not quite back off the vicodin completely, as Booth still took one before he went to bed to allow himself to get some sleep at night, he realized he was due back at his doctor's office for a follow-up appointment. Back in DC for an entire week, combined with the two weeks he had spent in the Chicago hospital, Booth had a jolt as he realized that Michael Stires had been dead for almost three weeks to the day. The thought was sobering. And, while Booth felt a reassuring sense of satisfaction every time he thought of Stires' void pale face staring back at him from on the ground where he had fallen after Booth shot him, it still gnawed at him. The Brennan case, Booth began to realize, was finally over. He had done what he promised to do. Booth found out who killed Dr. Temperance Brennan and brought her murderer to justice. However, the unsatisfying lack of resolution Booth felt, combined with the fact that it had been a relatively mundane week, left him unfulfilled and unsettled. Shrugging it off, Booth realized that he really *was* spending too much time alone.

Glad that Sully and Cam would be coming to pick him up, Booth thought back on how things had proceeded when he landed a week earlier. Booth had gone straight from landing at Reagan with Sully to being picked up by Cam and taken to Riverside Hospital for a follow-up consultation with the doctors who had taken over his case once the Chicago physicians discharged him. Despite Sully's early claims of doom and gloom, Booth was actually healing quite nicely by the time he arrived in DC. The doctors at Riverside seemed content to let Booth follow-up with his own physician on an outpatient basis. Thus, heavily loaded down with a series of prescriptions for antibiotics, the painkillers that he hated, and an obscene amount of fresh sterile cotton pads, gauze, and cotton tape, Booth had finally managed to get everyone to leave him to his own devices for a few hours. Those few hours had turned into several days, Booth realized, and now he was tired of being alone. Later, when Cam and Sully came to take him to the follow-up appointment, the pair remained attentive, but tight-lipped. They made the usual casual conversation with Booth, and after the doctor gave Booth a thumbs up for his progress report and told him not to come back for a month, stopped off for a slice of pizza before they would return Booth to his apartment. It was almost as if the pair was waiting for Booth to say something, but when he didn't know the right thing to say, their level of concern increased. Uncertain how to reassure them, Booth made a mental note to call Sully for a heart-to-heart the next day. But, for now, he was tired. The doctor's visit, and the side trip to the pizzera with Sully and Cam, had left Booth unexpectedly exhausted. Realizing that he was fading fast, and lest he zonk out on the couch and face the wrath of an aggravated back when he woke up, Booth trudged to his bed, collapsed on top, and promptly fell asleep without even bothering to take a pain pill.

Several hours later, Booth woke up, reluctantly clawing his way to consciousness as something urged his attention. Raising his head off the pillow, he turned sideways and saw that his green alarm clocked blinked obnoxiously at him. It proudly proclaimed the time to be 4:47am. Swallowing once or twice, Booth took his good hand and wiped the sleep from his eyes. He then winced as he shifted in bed, reaching for the bottle of water that sat next to the clock. Still half-asleep, Booth grabbed it and drained its contents before he realized that he was being watched. Lifiting his eyes to the foot of his bed, a mixture of concern, expectant anticipation, and satisfaction washed over him. Focusing on the edge of his bed, Booth couldn't help himself as he stifled a yawn, and remained unsurprised when he finally realized what he was seeing.

"You know," Booth began. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't expect you long before this. Where ya been?"

"Busy, Seeley," came the response. "Besides, well, we wanted to give you a bit of time to heal before we sprung things on you," a familiar female voice replied.

Nodding, Booth struggled to sit up. Leaning against the bed's headboard, he cracked a smile as he said, "So, is this a sign that I've finally cracked up like everyone thinks this case has made me do, Ma? What? Am I suffering from some type of delayed PTSD or something?"

Standing at the foot of his bed, a woman with long, dark brown hair stood wearing a cream colored dress. She inclined her head as she said, "What do you think, Seeley?"

"I don't think I'm crazy," Booth said. "Our family's a lot of things. Drunks, gamblers, bullies... but crazy? Nope, that's just not the Booth way. So, that being said, since I know I didn't take a pain pill before I went to sleep, I think I'm gonna go with answer C and say ghosts are real."

"You think I'm haunting you?" Sarah Jackson Booth - Booth's mother - laughed.

Booth had to refrain from shrugging his shoulders, as would be his normal response to his mother's quip. Instead, he tilted his head and said, "I'm not sure why else you'd be here."

"Oh, come on, Seeley. Since when do you give up this easily? The answer's *never*. So, try again. Come on. Give it another guess."

"Guess?" Booth said. "What do you want me to guess about, Ma? I have no clue why on God's green earth you'd be here... unless... it has something to do with Temperance Brennan?"

"Brennan?" Sarah said, arching her eyebrow. "Now, why do you bring her up?"

"Oh, I dunno, Ma. I just think... well, you know why you're here, right? Can't you tell me? Because, like I said, I think you're haunting me... I think. It's what's been going on, and has been, by the way, since the start of the Brennan case. I grant you, the timing's coincidental, but I don't know why else you'd be doing here now, if you being here doesn't have anything to do with her. I've seen you at least three or four times, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Sarah said as she folded her arms and nodded at her son. "You always were too smart for your own good, you know that?"

"Ehhh," Booth said. "I've just got a keen eye for details." He grinned at her and said, "But, everything else aside, whatever reason you're here, Ma? I'm really, *really* happy to see you."

"I am, too, Seeley," his mother smiled. "I… I don't get to do this sort of thing, very often. So, I'm happy to see you, too... even if the reason I'm here isn't all pleasure. We need to talk. There's something I need to tell you."

"Sure," Booth said. "I thought as much. But, Ma?"

"Yes, Seeley?"

"Can I tell you something else before you lay whatever bombshell you've got to drop on me?" Booth inquired.

"Sure. What is it?"

"I love you," Booth said simply, looking up at her with a genuine smile on his face. "I know I wasn't very good at saying it when I was a kid… before you went away? But, I just wanted you to know that I love you, and there's not a day that's gone by in my life when I didn't try to make you proud of me."

Sarah remained silent for a moment, and then a wide-smile cracked her face, largely reminiscent of her son's tell-tale grin. "I know that, Seeley. And, I love you, too. I think you know that, though—"

"I do," Booth assured her. "But, even still, it's nice to hear you say it."

Nodding, Booth's mother than said, "And, while we're taking the moment to restate the obvious, just in case you didn't know... I've been proud of you. So proud. You've become a good man and led a good life so far… even if you've started to get sidetracked a bit."

"Sidetracked?" Booth said curiously.

Sarah nodded, and then pointed at the second figure that had remained silent as she stood behind her. Booth, becoming aware that they were no longer alone, thought the second woman looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't immediately place her.

"All things being what they are, it's only fair for me to tell you that she's really the reason I'm here… why I'm allowed to be here, Seeley. It's to make sure you listen to what she has to say," Booth mother told him.

"Okay," Booth said, inclining his head at the second woman. "So, spill. I'm listening."

Taking a step closer to the foot of the bed, the second woman leveled her gaze at Booth as she began to talk. "You don't know me," the second woman said. "At least, I don't think you do. But, you do know my family. And, I think you *have* met a couple of people that are very special, very important to me."

"And, they would be?"

"I think you know who already," the second woman said.

"Oh?" Booth asked. "I do?"

"Yes, I think you do," she told him. "But, just so there isn't any confusion, my name's Christine Brennan."

"Brennan?" Booth asked, suddenly sitting a little straighter, recognizing the name and finally placing the woman's face. "You're Bones' mother, aren't you?"

At the mention of the nickname, Christine quirked an eyebrow at Booth in amusement. "'Bones', ehh?" She paused and considered the nickname for a moment before she said, "I don't know whether to think that's cute or morbid."

"I don't call her that because she's… well, because of how I met her," Booth defended himself. "She… bones were just her whole life. She knew so much about them that when I think of bones I kinda started to think of her, so it seemed like a good fit."

"Ahh," Christine said. "Well, in that case, it sort of does make sense. I'm just surprised Tempe would let you get away with something like that. She's never really been the type for nicknames."

"Yeah, well, she doesn't like it much," Booth admitted. "At least, I think she doesn't like it that much. But, it fits, so she's just gonna have to get used to it. I think... anyway, it's hard to know sometimes when I'm talking to her if it's just me... or something more, you know?"

"I think so," Christine laughed. "But, even still. Be careful about assuming things about Tempe. Despite how she may seem at first, she's actually quite... a complex personality... and full of surprises and wonderful contradictions if she let's you get close enough to see who she really is behind all the logic and rationality that she hides behind."

A bit confused by Christine's verb tense, Booth opened his mouth to ask for clarification. However, almost as if his mother could sense his thoughts, Sarah gave a quick shake of her head, and Booth resorted to childhood responses and ceased in his plan of action. Instead, he looked at Christine with a different question in mind.

"So, since Ma won't tell me, will you? Why are you here?" Booth asked suddenly. "And, more over, where's Bones?"

"What do you mean?" Christine asked.

"I mean if I am hallucinating or dreaming or being haunted… why are you here, and she isn't? I think after all that's happened, if I deserve one thing for my good deeds, it's to finally meet her – someway, somehow… don't you think?"

"Funny you should mention that," Christine said. "Because, the answer to your question? Well, it's Tempe. *She's* why I'm here," Christine said. "I'm here because she can't be, and she needs your help, Booth."

"If Bones needs my help, why can't she do the polite thing and at least ask me herself? I know she's not much on social skills, but come on. This one's pretty basic," Booth said.

Christine chuckled. "While I can't argue your point, I already told you. I'm here because Tempe can't be."

"But, why?" Booth asked. "Don't tell me that self-professed atheists don't get to be hallucinations, dreams, ghosts, or whatever it is you all are when they die, due to lack of belief, right?"

Booth's mother shot a look at Christine as she snickered. Christine shook her head and said, "Boy, you weren't kidding when you told me about him, Sarah. I can see why Tempe's meant for him. Max, though… if he's like this all the time, he and Max are going to have some real fun."

Smiling, Sarah said, "Believe it or not, this is him actually being nice. Best behavior in front of strangers, right, Seeley?"

Smiling an angelic smile, Booth said, "Always, Ma."

Again, Christine shook her head in amusement. "Yeah. I can definitely see why it's supposed to be him. No one can handle her, you know, without smothering her or destroying themselves? I don't think anyone else is going to be able to keep her on her toes like she needs, unless it's him."

"Like who needs?" Booth said, becoming a bit annoyed that the two ghosts who apparently had decided to haunt him were now ignoring his very presence.

Turning back to face him, Christine said, "The reason my daughter isn't here is because she can't be, like I said. Now, the reason as to why she can't be here is a bit more complicated. Suffice to say... she hasn't gotten where she was supposed to go when she was supposed to get there. She, ah… a mistake was made. Do you know what I mean when I say that?"

"No. Not really," Booth admitted. "What kind of mistake?" Booth asked.

"The worst kind," Christine said, suddenly becoming somber. "She wasn't supposed to die. That son of a bitch Stires… he wasn't supposed to kill her. It was a mistake."

"Okay," Booth said. "And, while I agree with you 100% on both those points, I'm not sure what else I can do about it. I already got him to confess, everyone knows what he did, and Stires is dead, burning in hell at this very moment, I hope."

"Retribution isn't why we're here," Christine said. "We're here… with a different goal in mind... and with a warning."

"What kind of warning?" Booth replied.

At this point, Booth's mother rejoined the conversation. "When you wake up, things are going to seem very strange, Seeley. They aren't going to make a lot of sense at first. But, the important thing that you remember is that it's real. Despite how impossible, how improbable… it'll be real. It won't be a dream, a hallucination, none of that… but it will be *real*," Sarah said.

Nodding, Christine added, "Divine plans rarely allow themselves to be open to alteration. A mistake was made with my daughter… but… free will is a big thing where we've come from… so, the best that could be managed was a compromise. A do-over, if you will."

"A do-over of what?" Booth said, shaking his head in confusion. Looking at his mother, Booth said, "Ma, this isn't making any sense."

"I know, Seeley. But, it will, I promise. And, when it does, you've got to remember what we've told you." She stopped and then added, "Keep your faith close to you, okay? You're heart's always been one of your truest and best qualities, Seeley. Even when you were a little boy, I knew that. So... just, follow your instinct... trust it. I mean I know you do anyway, but it's more than that even. Trust your instinct... and rely on your faith to guide you even if you think you're lost and everything is chaotic and nothing makes any sense, okay?"

"Yeah, well, nothing's making a bunch of sense right now, Ma. And, I have absolutely no idea what my heart or instinct is telling me to do, and I'd be lying if I said I did," Booth replied.

Sarah looked at Christine. She shook her head and said softly, "This isn't working. It's not enough. He doesn't understand."

"Sarah, you know the rules. We all agreed upon them, and get everyone to agree on something like *this*... it wasn't an easy thing to pull off by any means," Christine responded.

"I know," Sarah said. "But, I also know my little boy. And, that's the reason you brought me here, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Well, then trust me. Take my advice. If you want him to do what needs to be done, tell him."

"Tell me what?" Booth broke in. He glanced back and forth between his mother and Brennan's. "What?"

At this plea, Brennan's mother sighed, but then spoke again. "Fine, then how's this for plain spoken? It was a *mistake*," Christine repeated emphatically. "Tempe *wasn't* supposed to die. Stires *wasn't* supposed to kill her that day. You've got to remember that, and do whatever you have to do to make it right."

"Make what right?" Booth asked.

"Protect her," Christine said. "You're the only one who's going to be able to do it. And, here's probably the second most important thing you've got to keep with you, aside from the fact that things *are* real. There won't be any more chances after this one. This is it. One-time only."

"And?" Booth asked, sensing there was more she needed to tell him.

"And," Christine confirmed. "You're already running out of time, so you can't forget, you've got just the one shot. Make it a good one, all right? Your mother here says you're a good enough shot that you've only ever needed just the one."

"Well, yeah," Booth said. "I don't like to brag, but—"

Once more, Christine's somberness suddenly retreated a little as she chuckled. Looking at Sarah, she said, "If I had any doubts before, I don't now. You were right. He's perfect."

"Told you," Sarah responded, still grinning.

"Well, I just admitted you were right," Christine said.

"Thank you-"

"Again, what's with the ignoring me here? Oi! Hey! Person over here being haunted wants the attention of his ghostly visitors, thank you very much," Booth intoned.

"Yes, Seeley?" Sarah turned to her son, an indulgent look on her face.

"What am I perfect for?" Booth said.

This time, it was Christine who answered as she said, "My daughter."

"Bones?" Booth asked, in confusion.

"Yes, Temperance. Please, do what you must. Protect her. Save her. Don't forget what we've told you. Do what has to be done," Christine said.

"I know you'll make me proud, Seeley. You always do the right thing," Sarah told him. Looking behind her, as if hearing something that Booth couldn't, she nodded at Christine. "It's almost time. We've got to go." Looking at her son again, Sarah blew him a kiss. "I love you, Seeley. And, Jared, too. Make certain you both know that and never forget it. I love you."

Turning, his mother began to walk away from the foot of the bed and disappeared into the shadows. Christine remained for a minute more. She looked at Booth once and said, "I know you'll do what has to be done. You'll be there for her when her father and I couldn't be... and, well, when you do, I have one last favor to ask."

"What?" Booth asked.

"When the time's right, even if she doesn't believe you, and she probably won't because that's just how Tempe is… tell my daughter that I love her?"

"I'm not sure when I'll have the chance to, but if I can, I promise I will," Booth said.

"Thank you. Remember… don't forget… and protect her, Seeley Booth. Protect her. *Save* her."

As Christine turned to disappear, just as his mother had, Booth tried to call out one last time, but stopped as a wave of blurriness shifted his vision. Suddenly, Booth shot up in bed, as an alarm clock's ring pierced the air. A wave of nausea swept over him as the world spun once, and Booth realized that at some point, the sun had risen. Glancing at the alarm clock, Booth scowled as it continued to ring and the radio blared.

"—and it's half past seven on this Monday morning, October 12th. Stay tuned for your celebrity trash with Cal and Janie on Washington's best music in the morning for three years running. This is Greg S. on Hot 99.5 WIHT, proudly serving the DC area since 1995—"

Grasping the clock, Booth suddenly realized that the reason he was having difficulty turning it off was because it wasn't his usual alarm clock. Glancing around the room, Booth suddenly felt a wave of panic wash over him, as he didn't remember how he got into the strange room. Throwing his feet over the edge of the bed, Booth staggered to the dresser, looking for his wallet, cell phone, and keys.

Cursing silently, Booth scowled when he saw that only a vaguely familiar set of keys and a worn brown leather wallet staring back at him and that his cell phone was gone. Grabbing the wallet with his dominant hand, and muttering a curse, Booth braced himself a second too late as he anticipated a shooting pain to come up his wounded arm that he had temporarily forgotten about in his earlier wave of panic. However, the pain never came. Looking down, Booth immediately realized the reason why he hadn't felt any pain from the shoulder wound he had blatantly disregarded in his earlier movements was because his arm *wasn't* in a sling anymore.

"What the hell?"

Booth stared in disbelief and yanked up the black t-shirt that covered his chest. Pulling it over his head, he stared in shock at the smooth and unmarred skin of his shoulder where Stires had shot him less than a month earlier. His skin was smooth and whole… and then, as Booth looked in the mirror, he realized something else. Staring back at him, Booth saw his own reflection, but it was *off* somehow. His reflection, it was *different*. It then clicked in Booth's mind what was different about his image. He looked younger, the face that was staring back at him looked *much* younger than the normal image that greeted him each morning in the mirror. Looking for some type of rational proof to either confirm or deny what he was seeing, Booth glanced at his wallet, grabbed it, and stared intently at the first card that prominently stared back at him upon opening it.

"No way," Booth muttered. "No friggin' way—"

Reaching into the wallet, Booth took out the ID staring back at him. Lifting the card to the morning light, Booth saw a familiar image staring back at him, but one he hadn't seen in some time. Instead of his normal FBI badge and identification card, Booth held his military ID, assigned to one Master Sergeant Seeley Joseph Booth, US Army—"

Dropping the wallet as if it were a live wire, Booth scanned the room and stumbled towards the television when he saw it. Hitting the power button, Booth hastily clicked through the channels until he came to a national news program.

And, there, sitting in the bottom left hand corner, Booth's eyes were transfixed on the time and date icon that blinked back at him as it read:

_7:37 AM EST, Monday, October 12, 1998._

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	16. Ch 16: The Bones are Bones No Longer

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 16 – The Bones are Bones No Longer<p>

* * *

><p>If there had been any doubt in his mind that somehow, someway, despite how inexplicable it might have seemed that he had woken up in 1998, as Booth stared at the Windows 98 logo of his ancient laptop, the technology would've been enough to convince him.<p>

"Stupid, stupid laptop," Booth muttered. "Come on!"

Once he had booted up the laptop, vague memories of why he had hated the pre-wireless age renewed themselves with a vengeance. Booth's impatience grew as he reluctantly clicked the appropriate icon, typed in his user name and password, and heard the tell-tale beeps and hisses of the dial-up connection attempted to establish itself. He had surprised himself somewhat in that... after an initial period of acclimation, things had started to come back to him. Where he was, what he was supposed to be doing, why he didn't have a cell phone (in 1998, he couldn't afford one), old log-in names and passwords, etc.

Shaking his head, Booth said, "I hate dial-up. I really, really, *really* hate it."

After a couple of more minutes, Booth opened his browser and went to the search engine. Typing in key words to in a search that he hoped would bring up the Jeffersonian's web page, Booth sighed again in frustration as it took each page a seemingly inordinate amount of time to load. Once it did, Booth began to mutter to himself again.

"I know you're on here," Booth said. "I stared at that damn schedule too long not to be right about this."

At last, Booth found what he was looking for as he slapped his hands together and began to rub them in glee.

"Ha! I knew it. I knew I was right."

Reaching for a pencil and a scrap of paper from the desk, Booth scrolled down a little bit, and nodded to himself. "Yup, there you are. Thought so."

When he continued to write down the pertinent details, Booth frowned as his brain recognized what he was writing. "Hmmmm…."

Turning around, Booth glanced back at the television, which he had left turned on to the news channel. Looking at the time and date watermark in the bottom corner of the screen, Booth pursed his lips as he turned back and glanced down at the date and event details he had just copied from the Jeffersonian's calendar of events.

_Brown Bag Lunch w/ a Jeffersonian Scientist-in-Residence_. _Scholar's Gallery. 11:30am-1:30pm every Monday. Featured Speaker on October 12__th__: Dr. Temperance Brennan. Free Presentation, Open to the Public: "Can We Solve a Prehistoric Murder?"_

Looking back to the TV, Booth saw the watermark advance from 9:02am EST, October 12, 1998 to 9:03am EST, October 12, 1998.

"I guess that's not a simple coincidence, huh, Ma?" Booth said to himself.

It had taken Booth about an hour to convince himself that he wasn't A.) still dreaming, B.) hallucinating, C.) under the influence of some type of mind altering drugs or having a delayed allergic reaction to his pain medication, and D.) actually awake and… apparently… somehow, someway, despite as crazy as it seemed, back in 1998, his memories intact, more or less. His mother's words, fading somewhat the longer Booth was awake, but still fresh in his memory for the most part, did bring him a small measure of comfort, as he struggled to hold on to what he had been told.

_When you wake up, things are going to seem very strange, Seeley. They aren't going to make a lot of sense at first. But, the important thing that you remember is that it's real. Despite how impossible, how improbable… it'll be real. It won't be a dream, a hallucination, none of that… but it will be *real*._

Okay, so it was real. He was back in 1998… if the TV and crappy laptop with Windows 98 and dial-up service hadn't been enough to confirm that, the lack of FBI identification and prevalence of an active military ID assigned to one Master Sergeant Seeley Joseph Booth of the US Army had been. More importantly, once Booth had gotten a grip on things, he began to remember *where* he was… because, he knew this room… he knew this house. It was 1998, a month before he would deploy to Kosovo via Germany, and he had spent it in Alexandria, Virginia at the home of one of his fellow Rangers. Having accepted the fact that Booth was somehow back in 1998, he had become giddy when one thing registered in his mind. If it was October 12, 1998, Temperance Brennan was still alive. Stires wouldn't kill her for nineteen days. So, Brennan was *alive* and in DC… and so was Booth. He knew only one thing from that moment on... a single thought began to consume him - he had to find *her*.

The more he thought about it, the more one thought weighed on his mind. The vague warnings of his dream had started to fade. He knew that he had to protect Brennan, and he would. But, even more than that… Booth wanted to meet her. That was it, he told himself, he just wanted to meet her. See what she was like… see… her. At last, really and truly, he wanted to meet the living and breathing, no imitations or duplications, Dr. Temperance Brennan. That was it.

And, so, Booth had gone over to the desk where his old laptop stood waiting for him, and he became determined to find out a innocuous way in which he might be able to observe Brennan. As he pondered his possible courses of action, Booth had recalled one relevant detail from the many hours he had spent pouring over her case files. Brennan had been a participant in a series of lectures sponsored by the Jeffersonian in the weeks before her death. He had been surprised at that, honestly… being able to remember the Brown Bag Lunch Series. But, in all honesty, the more Booth thought about it, the less it actually surprised him since he had found it so funny as compared with his original thoughts on Brennan's lectures. When he first discovered that *Brennan* had been chosen to talk to the *public*, in what was supposed to be a casual and friendly engaging discussion about science… on a level a normal guy like Booth would be able to understand, Booth had found it friggin' hilarious. The irony tickled him. Booth had gone through her belongings, read her writings, heard her voice, talked to her friends and family. He knew one thing, and one thing very, very well in his mind – Dr. Temperance Brennan didn't do 'casual' or 'friendly' or non-squint speak, the three hallmarks of the Brown Bag Series. Thus, still snickering, Booth was trying to figure out how to get from Alexandria into DC when a knock came at his bedroom door.

"Booth?" a female voice rang out. "You up and decent?"

Recognizing the voice, Booth smiled. He then quickly glanced down at his t-shirt and sweat pants before Booth shrugged and called out a response. "Yeah, Janie. I am. Come on in."

Slowly, the door to Booth's bedroom cracked open and a pretty woman in her late-twenties with red hair came in the bedroom holding a basket of clothes. Booth stood and smiled at her as she came in and set the basket on the bed.

"Morning, Janie."

"You're up already, huh?" came the reply. "I thought you'd take the opportunity to sleep in a bit more."

Shrugging, Booth said, "You know us Rangers, Janie. Three hours past sunrise is late."

"Don't I know it," she laughed. Nodding at him, she continued, "Hank had to go into DC to make some appointment at the Pentagon with some bigwigs, which I don't know anything about, by the way. I think they were meeting to discuss some aspect of your mission next month that I also don't know anything about. He said there was no point to both of you going and that he'd fill you in when he got back."

"Okay," Booth said with a nod.

Hank and Janie Lutrell were too of Booth's closest friends. Seeing Janie again brought back to Booth how much he had missed both of them.

"You hungry?" Janie asked. "I picked up a box of that cereal you like yesterday. I've got some bagels, also, if you're anything like Hank and consume more food than your actual weight in the morning. The coffee should still be warm, too."

At her words, Booth suddenly realized his stomach was rumbling. Deciding that some coffee and cereal would be an excellent way to start his day, Booth smiled and said, "That sounds great. I'll be down in just a sec."

"Okay," Janie said. Pointing at the basket, she added, "Here's the clothing you gave me. It should smell a lot better than the last time you saw it—"

"Janie," Booth clucked. "I told you. You don't have to do my laundry for me. Or, as sweet as it is, make me breakfast. I'm grateful enough as is just being here. You and Hank didn't have to put me up like this…."

Placing her hands on her hips, Janie said, "Now, don't you start that again. I told you… any man who's saved my husband's life is a member of this family. You've already done it *twice*, Booth." She stopped, her voice choking a bit with emotion as she said, "You're one of the best friends he's ever had, and I say a prayer for you each night in thanksgiving knowing that you'll be there with him when you all deploy next month. I get so scared sometimes… he takes chances, you know? It's just what he does. He's a hero, and takes stupid chances… and I know I can't get him to stop. But, at least with you there, and I don't know why, but I feel better. I know… for some reason, I just *know* that if you're there with him that he'll come back home to me. So, if washing three pairs of jeans, some t-shirts, and a few pairs of dirty boxers and socks are a way I can let you know how grateful I am, it's a really small thing, and you're going to let me do it. Understand?"

Smartly, Booth stood soberly at attention and gave her a perfect salute. "Yes, ma'am."

At this, Janie laughed. Booth let a small grin crack his serious demeanor. Shaking her head, Jane muttered, "Smart ass."

Nodding himself, Booth and Janie looked at each other for a minute before the seriousnss returned. Booth finally broke the silence when he said, "You know I'm not the type of guy who'd ever make you a promise I couldn't keep, Janie. But, Hank and I… no matter what happens, we *will* be coming home when this thing is done. I promise you that."

"I know," Janie said, forcing herself to smile and brightening as she continued. "But, enough of that. We can deal with that all next month. In the mean time, this pass is supposed to be about rest and relaxation and fun."

"Yeah," Booth said, realizing he had come across the perfect opportunity for inquiring about a solution to his lack of transportation. "About that… do you think you could give me a ride to the Metro station? I can take the Blue Line straight in, but I was thinking about going into downtown to do some errands."

"Sure," Janie replied instantly. "But… will you have enough time?"

"Time?" Booth asked, slightly confused. "Time for what?"

Narrowing her eyes, Janie said, "Please tell me you didn't forget, Booth."

"Forget what?" Booth asked, a bit sheepish.

"You did."

"I did?"

"Lunch?" Janie said. "Remember? Today? You were supposed to have lunch with me and my friend, Rebecca?"

Like a ton of bricks hitting him, Booth felt his stomach drop about fifty feet to the floor. He winced as he recalled the event to which Janie was referring. Rebecca… Janie… lunch at Café Regalo… a quasi blind-date that Janie had spent weeks trying to get Booth to agree to because she felt that he would 'hit it off' with one of her best friends.

Rebecca.

Lunch.

Booth was supposed to go to lunch with Janie and one of her best friends. It was supposed to be the first time he had met Rebecca. They would go to lunch, and, as Janie suspected, get along quite well. At some point, Janie would plead-off another engagement and leave the pair to spend the entire afternoon at the café just talking. The hours disappearing, before they knew what had happened, the pair would realize that dinner time was upon them, and so, hungry once more, Booth would invite Rebecca to dinner the same evening, and from there… it would, it *had* gone quickly. Very quickly. A whirlwind fling on this 30-day leave laid the foundation for the relationship that had been one of the most significant in his life. God, he had loved her… before everything else that happened between them. Before she had tried to use Parker against him and keep Booth away from his son. Before... everything.

Rebecca.

Torn, Booth glanced down at the sheet of paper that held the details he had copied from the Jeffersonian website.

Brennan.

Booth sighed. The Brown Bag Lunch lecture really was too good an opportunity to pass up. How else could he get close to Brennan without coming off as the weird, obsessive stalker type? Besides, he needed to see her *now*. The compulsion was almost overwhelming. Booth had spent weeks thinking about nothing but Brennan. Now that he had an opportunity to finally meet her, what type of guy would Booth be to pass up a one-in-a-million chance like that? Shaking his head, Booth realized he had already made his decision. He would make it up to Rebecca somehow… maybe see if she was willing to go to dinner with him tonight sans their lunch, after all? That idea seemed like a good one.

He would go see Brennan first, then he'd deal with Rebecca.

_There. That was easy. All fixed. Not a big deal at all_, Booth thought with a smile.

Janie waited patiently for a response, as Booth seemed to be thinking about something intently.

At last, she knew what he was going to say before Booth even said it, because Janie recognized the tone in Hank's voice. Guilt... and rejection. Yup, after all her hard work to finally get Rebecca to agree to meet him, when she'd spent months telling Janie she had no desire to mirror her best friend's fate in life by becoming the significant other of a mere 'groundpounder', Janie knew instantly that Booth was going to chicken out and cancel on them. She was annoyed, but let Booth say his piece anyway.

"I, ah, know this is terrible of me, Janie, because I know how hard you've worked to try to set this thing up, but I can't make it today. Something… there's someplace I need to be at 11:30am in downtown. I'm *so* sorry. Can I take a rain check?"

Frowning, Janie forced herself to refrain from sighing in exageration or betraying her frustration. Hadn't she just told Booth this pass was about fun and relaxation? If he wanted to spend it however he wanted to spend it, who was she to deny him? Thus, slowly, Janie nodded. "Sure, I guess. I'll call Rebecca and let her know about the change in plans. Maybe we can do it another day? I know Mondays are her light day for classes, but I can see if she has a break in-between sessions on any of the other days."

Walking towards her, Booth enveloped her in a tight hug. "Thanks, Janie. You're too good to me."

"Don't I know it," Janie said, as she turned to go once Booth began to root around in the laundry basket for a clean outfit.

* * *

><p>Two hours later, Booth sat in the back of the Jeffersonian's Scholar's Gallery. He had sat utterly mesmerized as he watched her move. Despite everything he knew about her, she was not what he had been expecting… and, yet she was. Exactly. She was *perfect*. His brain struggled to comprehend the paradox, in addition to the small corner of his rational mind that *still* was grappling with the fact that he had somehow ended up back in 1998, and that the last time he had seen this same woman, she had been a grinning pile of white bones in a lab that made him puke up his guts. It was a lot to process.<p>

For two hours, despite the program's claim that it would an informal discussion, if he had actually been paying attention to the words Brennan was saying, Booth knew he would have felt as if he had just sat through one of the most intense academic lectures of his entire career… and that included a number of senior seminars in Criminology when he was a student at the University of Pennsylvania. By the time 1:30pm approached, the sparse audience had already begun to disperse. Only a few people remained scattered throughout the auditorium, mostly a few senior citizens who appeared to be intently concentrating on Brennan's presentation. For her part, Brennan had yet to stop moving, stop talking, or even touch the brown bag lunch that sat on the table next to her bag.

"…so, any questions?" Brennan suddenly called out.

His diverted attention riveted once more back on actually comprehending what she was saying, Booth stood up and raised his hand. "Yeah, I have a question. It seems to me if you, uh, remove the flesh aren't you, uh, destroying the evidence that could be used to help you prove who killed the prehistoric hunter?"

"On the contrary, I would be revealing evidence. While I have not yet gained permission from the Jeffersonian's Board of Trustees to macerate the bones, I feel certain that I'll soon be able to do so. That crucial step will allow me, once and for all, to prove *how* the hunter was murdered - as the how is always more important than the whom - more than 4000 years ago. Thank you," Brennan said with a firm nod. Scanning the rest of the audience, Brennan called out, "Are there any other questions or comments that anyone would like to share?" The few remaining guests shook their heads. Brennan nodded again, and said, "Then, on behalf of the Jeffersonian Institute, thank you for coming. We hope you have found your attendance at this lecture to be both educational and personally beneficial. Good bye."

Turning her back onthe audience, Brennan moved to gather her belongings. Booth walked up the aisle way and called out to her, "Ah, just, uh, one more thing. I mean, isn't all the good evidence in the flesh? You know, like, the arrowheads and poison and stab wounds and the bullets."

Turning her head, Brennan's eyes assessed Booth in curiosity as she responded, "On the contrary, all of the important indicators are written in the bone... if you look carefully enough."

"So that's your thing, then? Bones?" Booth said, although he already knew the answer.

Brennan nodded. "Yes. I'm the best in the world."

"I just bet you are," Booth said.

"Yes," Brennan repeated. "I am." She stopped slung her bag over her shoulder and made a face at the brown lunch sack that sat on the table.

"That look doesn't seem to register a positive opinion about the Jeffersonian's cuisine," Booth laughed.

"Ugggh. No, it doesn't. I have no desire to subject my digestive system to the pre-processed junk food that the Jeffersonian continually tries to pass off as not only a healthy lunch, but an appetizing one," Brennan said with more than a slight hint of disgust registering in her voice.

Holding up his own bag and shaking it so she could hear the remaining items of his own lunch as evidence to confirm that Booth shared her opinion about the lunch with which they had been provided, Booth said, "The two chocolate chip cookies were about the only things that were salvageable, and they were miniscule."

Immediately, Brennan extended her brown bag to Booth. "Here. You can have mine if you want. I will *not* be eating them."

Laughing, Booth said, "Thanks, but that's okay. I think I'm good."

Eyeing him again, Brennan said, "You are very confusing."

"Why's that?" Booth asked.

"I watched you watching me for almost the entire lecture. I could tell you were paying attention, but it also seemed that you weren't all that interested in the content of my presentation. However, based on the questions you've asked, if you hadn't registered what I was saying, I'm unaware as to how you would've been able to possess enough knowledge to ask such questions," Brennan replied.

"I was paying attention to every single word you said," Booth said. Extending his hand, he said, "I'm Seeley Booth."

Reaching out for it, Brennan clasped it with her free hand. Booth felt a jolt of electricity shoot through him as she shook his hand. Brennan took a moment to look at Booth again, her eyes running up and down his tall frame in appreciation and assessment. Booth had the odd feeling as if he were being checked out as Brennan firmly shook his hand and replied, "You know this already, but I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan."

Laughing, Booth said, "Yeah, I do know that."

Frowning at their brown lunch sacks, Brennan eyed Booth again as she said, "Are you still hungry?"

"Why?" Booth said.

"I find that I must consume a certain caloric intake before returning to my duties in the Medico-Legal Lab at the Jeffersonian. If you had more questions, it might be pleasant to discuss them over a more suitable… and definitively *edible* lunch," Brennan replied.

"Are you asking me out, Dr. Brennan?" Booth asked, a bit of the surprise he felt creeping into his voice.

Again, Brennan's eyes drifted up and down his body. She smiled in appreciation and said, "And, if I was?"

"If you were," Booth said, "Then I'd probably say 'yes'."

"Good to know," Brennan said. Inclining her head in the direction of the door, she said, "You don't happen to like Thai food, do you?"

At this, Booth couldn't help himself as he laughed. "Love it."

"Excellent," Brennan said. "I know a place. It's not far from here."

"Okay, I'm right behind you. You can lead the way… but-" Booth said.

"But?" Brennan asked.

"But, before we go, though, I just have one more thing I'd like to ask you before we leave here," Booth said.

"And, what's that?" Brennan asked curiously.

"Do you believe in fate?"

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	17. Ch 17: The Bones Become Brennan

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 17 – The Bones Become Brennan<p>

* * *

><p>Dr. Temperance Brennan sat on her side of a booth, both hands resting lightly on the edge of the Thai restauarant's table, as she leaned forward slightly and stared at her dining partner's reaction in confused amazement. The remnants of their meal lay scattered in front of them, used chopsticks lazily abandoned while the sirachi sauce bottle had ended up half way between the pair in a tug-of-war over who deserved prominance of bottle usage throughtout the course of the meal. Now, Brennan's half-consumed fresh Thai lemonade satmelting in front of her while Booth's Thai ice tea kept it company, as its owner continued to serve as the first puzzle in a long while that Brennan had not been able to solve instantaneously.<p>

Deciding to try once again, Brennan smiled at Booth, shook her head, and then asked once more, "Why do you keep laughing at me?"

Smiling sheepishly at her, Booth reached for his ice tea. Looking up at her over his glass, Booth shrugged, laughing again. "I don't know," he chuckled. "I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you, really, I swear. It's just... I just can't help it. You are so… not what I expected… but, you are, too, in some ways. It's just very amusing to me."

Shaking her head with a smile on her face, Brennan said, "Well, in that case, even though I *am* quite amusing, you're answer is still very vague and imprecise."

"Yeah, well, it's the best I can do, I'm afraid," Booth said. "Remember, I'm just you normal, average GI Joe. It's not like I have the grand deductive resaoning and awesome powers of explanation to communicate like you do."

"I don't believe I'm familiar with that acronym," Brennan said, her forehead furrowing a bit in confusion.

"It means 'government-issue'," Booth replied.

"But, you said you're name was 'Seeley' not Joe. We're you being disingenuous?" Brennan asked.

"No," Booth laughed again. "It's just a saying since Joe is such a common male name in America, you know? So, the GI Joe thing just means I'm average, as in, I'm just your typical American guy."

"Despite the fact that it is impossible to know how you compare to the average American male unless we were to quantify and to conduct an experiment to see where you rank in relation to a relative sample size, I still don't know if I'd agree that you're just some 'typical American guy.' Typical men like you aren't typical when they chose to attend scholarly lectures at an institution of higher learning like the Jeffersonian on one of his limited vacation days," Brennan said amended. She stopped, looked at him again, and then shook her head. "I know I said it before, but I think it bears repeating. You're very paradoxical to me."

"Why's that?" Booth said, setting down his ice tea glass and leaning across the table so that he could look firmly into her eyes as Brennan responded.

"All right," Brennan began. "Specifically, your dress, bearing, manner, and profession, as you've explained it to me, should all combine to indicate one type of classification to which I should be able to assign you, as far as social stereotypes go. However, your preformative actions in the time between when you entered the lecture hall and now, combined with the nature and content of our conversation, contradict the typical stereotype to which I would usually assign you in many ways. You're actually quite intelligent and well-spoken. More importantly, your primary goal does not seem to based on initiating a social exchange with a woman like me merely to obtain the potential opportunity to engage in sexual intercourse."

"Why do you say that?" Booth laughed again.

"Since there are many other women with whom you would be more likely to gain immediate success with that goal, and you'd be likely to obtain that sucess without having to expend as much time, energy, and effort as a similar outcome with me would require. Ergo, your interest in the Jeffersonian lecture, and, by default, me, must be scholarly. As a result of that, I must admit I'm pleasingly flummoxed," Brennan said.

"Well," Booth said, glancing at his watch. "I'm glad that after five and a half hours, I've managed to accomplish at least one thing by sitting here dazzling you with my wit and conversational brilliance. I'm not sure how I feel about only achieving a reaction described as 'pleasingly flummoxed', but I guess it's a start, right?"

Nodding again, Brennan laughed lightly. "Indeed. You should be quite flattered, actually. First, I rarely am faced with a situation which surprises me because of the level of challenge that it poses to me. Second, I've altered my plans for you today more than you can possibly realize. When we departed from the Scholar's Gallery, I fully intended to return to work approximately thirty minutes later after I had consumed my mid-day repast."

"You only planned to give me a half hour and now it's actually been five and a half?" Booth said.

"Yes," Brennan admitted. "So, I've spent five hours more with you than I had initially anticipated."

"Five hours too long?" Booth asked, tentatively.

"No," Brennan said, shaking her head. "As a matter a fact, I find that I'm reluctant to leave your company, which may explain while I have metaphorically lost track of time."

"It doesn't seem like we've been here that long now, does it?" Booth said, shifting in the booth a bit himself. The stiffness of his leg muscles, however, attested to the fact of how long they had been sitting there in conversation.

"No, it doesn't," Brennan said. "And, as I said, normally I admit that I would have long ago returned to the lab, but I find that I am enjoying our discussion too much to do so at the current moment."

"I'm that irresistible, huh?" Booth said, grinning.

Brennan smirked as she shook her head and specified , "I believe I said I find your *conversational* skills to be extremely intriguing."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Booth said with a wave of his hand. "Close enough a distinction, as far as I'm concerned." He paused and then looked up at Brennan. His gaze staring intently at her, Booth knew it was now or never if he was going to take a chance as he echoed her earlier words. "So, do you find my *conversational* skills intriguing enough to let me take you out to dinner?" Booth ventured.

Narrowing her eyes, Brennan said, "That would require us ending our current discussion and postponing it until the selection and arrival of an alternative time and place we had mutually agreed upon before we left this restaurant could actually arrive. And, I've never been very patient at waiting for something like that when we could just stay here, so I'm not sure how much I favor making such an decision."

"Or," Booth said. "Since it's already close to 7 o'clock now, we could simply pay our bills, leave our waitress a really big tip since we kept her table occupied all day, and we could continue our conversation at this place I know a few blocks from here. No waiting necessary. Does that change your mind at all about my suggestion being favorable?"

"Maybe," Brennan smiled. She considered his words for a minute before she said, "So, if I acquiesced to your proposal, would my agreement result in you paying for any beverages or food I consumed at this new establishment of your choosing?"

"Yeah," Booth said. 'That's the general idea."

"Typically," Brennan began. "When a male offers to use his resources to procure sustenance for a female, it signifies his desire to engage in a social contract with her." Leveling her head at him, Brennan said, "At least, from an anthropological point of view, that would be an accurate descriptor of your behavior."

"Okay," Booth said. "Let me see if I can translate this from squint-speak."

"'Squint-speak?'" Brennan asked, another look of confusion - one that had often happened upon her face during her afternoon's conversation with Booth - returned. "I find that I'm unfamiliar with that nomenclature."

Pointing at her, Booth said, "You brainy types that work in labs like the Jeffersonian are what is typically referred to in the military and law enforcement fields as a 'squint'. When you talk like you do, that's 'squint-speak'."

"Ahh," Brennan said. "A euphemism?"

Booth nodded.

"Although I now understand your use of the euphemism, I'm uncertain why the adjective 'squint' is applied to a scientist like me," Brennan said.

"Well, because," Booth said. "You know… that thing you're doing right now, looking at me while you're trying to figure out what I'm going to do? You're squinting. You're squinting at me now, but you'll do it at other things later, too. And, that's because that's just what you do. You squint. Ergo, you're a squint, and you talk in squint-speak."

"Fascinating," Brennan replied. Nodding at him, Brennan said, "So, you have ethnographic skills that allow you to translate 'squint-speak' into a vernacular more easily understood by the more common members of society?"

"Uhh, yeah, I guess."

A bit of excitement creeping into her voice, Brennan said, "Please, then. Proceed."

"Well," Booth began. "You said that when a 'male offers to use his resources to procure sustenance for a female, it signifies his desire to engage in a social contract with her.' The English translation of that from squint-speak is, if I'm asking you to dinner and offering to pay, does that mean it's a date?"

Her eyes growing wider in even more excitement, Brennan repeated, "That's fascinating!"

Booth chuckled and then narrowed his eyes as he said, "And, to answer your question, but the way… would you have a problem if it were a date?"

"It depends," Brennan replied. "Are you seeing anyone?"

Shaking his head, Booth said, "No, not really. The whole military lifestyle isn't conducive to maintaining even casual relationships." He paused and then asked, "What about you?"

Brennan considered his words for a minute before she responded. "There's another forensic anthropologist that has asked me out several times, and I've been considering acquiescing to his requests in recent weeks, but no. To answer your question, I haven't been in what you might refer to as a 'serious' relationship since last spring. I am currently unattached from any social obligations."

"Good to know," Booth said. "So, if I were asking you out on a date then?"

"I would accept," Brennan replied honestly.

Grinning again, Booth turned and gestured to their waitress. "I think we're ready for our checks over here, please."

* * *

><p>Several hours later, Brennan found herself sitting across from Booth in another booth. This time, the excited buzz of an Italian restaurant surrounded them. Brennan was munching on the final piece of white-sauce flatbread pizza she had ordered while Booth happily finished eating his last piece of pepperoni pizza. Through a mouthful of food, Booth shook his head at disbelief at Brennan.<p>

"Oh, come on!" Booth protested. "That was a *funny* joke."

"No," Brennan countered instantaneously. "It was rather predictable and puerile in its punch line. I've heard better."

Lifting his beer to his lips, Booth said, "Tough, tough crowd."

Taking a sip, he looked at Brennan over the rim of his glass. Reaching for her glass of sangria, he noted that she seemed even more open and relaxed than she had been at the Thai restaurant earlier that afternoon. Her eyes alight with interest, Brennan seemed to take in each new topic which discussed with obvious relish as they talked about everything from his career in the military to the fact that Brennan had never actually been to see a hockey game in person at any point in her life. Once their waiter came and cleared their plates, and Booth ordered another round of drinks with Brennan's tacit permission, they once again found themselves sitting while just talking. His latest attempt to make Brennan laugh had failed, frustrating Booth, as he tried to think of the type of joke that a squint would think was funny while also amusing Brennan, who seemed just to enjoy his mere efforts to amuse her, despite her claims that they had failed. Booth was still considering what joke he should attempt to tell next when Brennan suddenly chimed in, interuppting the flow of conversation that had been previously established between tehm.

"So, can I ask you a question?" Brennan suddenly asked.

"Sure," Booth said. "Anything you want."

"And, I can anticipate that you will respond with an honest answer?"

"Yup," Booth said, smiling. "That's me, 'Mr. Honesty'."

"All right," Brennan said. "Why don't you like you're first name?"

"Seeley?" Booth said, setting the pub glass down on the table. "I dunno. It's just always seemed too… girly for me. It has far too many vowels. Too many of the same vowel, at that. It's just.. not very interesting. I've always thought it was kind of boring."

"Well, my name has far too many consonants, and you don't hear me complaining," Brennan responded.

"But, 'Temperance' is a girl's name. And, you're a girl, so that works. It's not like your parents named you 'Steve' or some other masculine name that doesn't fit with the person who you are," Booth said. "But, 'Seeley'... it just doesn't scream masculine Army sniper, you know?"

"That's a valid point," Brennan conceded. "I just find it odd to refer to you as 'Booth'. I've never know someone and exclusively referred to them by their last name."

"You'll get used to it."

Setting her glass of red wine down, Brennan arched an eyebrow at him. "You're very sure of yourself, aren't you? What makes you even think I'll see you again after we depart from this establishment?"

"Yes, I am, and because…" Booth said. "I just do."

"'Booth'," Brennan tried out experimentally. She then shrugged her shoulders as she said, "I could probably get used to it. But, I still think you are being unusually hard on your first name. 'Seeley' is a positive sobriquet. It means 'good' or 'fortunate' in Old English, doesn't it?"

Impressed, Booth said, "Now how could you possibly know *that*? It's just a bit random, don't you think?"

"Yes, perhaps. But, I'm very good with names and remembering facts," Brennan said. "I'm sure I ran into that particular factoid at some point."

"All right," Booth said. "So, we're agreed then… you'll call me 'Booth'… and I'll call you….?"

"'Dr. Brennan'."

Looking at her face, Booth said, "Seriously? I buy you wine and pay for dinner, and I don't even rate the use of your first name?"

A slight twitch of her mouth gave away the joke as Brennan feign reluctance as she said, "Oh, all right. I suppose since you *did* buy me dinner, the least I can do is let you call me 'Temperance'."

"Of course, you're supposing I *want* to call you 'Temperance'," Booth said seriously. "In my opinion, it really does have too many consonants."

"I think I'm offended," Brennan chuckled, her eyes once again staring at Booth in a very engaged manner.

Booth laughed. Shaking his head at her unanticipated, but accurate usage of sarcasm, a topic which they had spent an hour going over earlier that afternoon, Booth had to admit that he was impressed. She *was* a fast learner. Deciding not to make too much of a deal over it, lest it inflate her ego too much, Booth replied in kind as he would to anyone else who had thrown a sarcastic quip at him. "I'm sure you'll get over it eventually."

"No," Brennan said, emphatically. "I won't. In case you didn't know, I'm the type of woman who holds a grudge."

"Oh?"

"Yes," Brennan said, the tip of her mouth twitching again. Booth grinned as he realized he had picked up on one of her tells.

"You're also a horrible liar, even if you *are* a quick study over the whole use of sarcasm, there, which was quite good, by the way," Booth laughed. "But, you can't keep a straight face to save your life, can you?"

"If by 'straight face' you mean metaphorically in reference to keeping my face devoid of emotion, then the answer is… probably not," Brennan said. "I rarely have emotional responses to people or events or things, so when I do, I'm afraid I don't have a lot of experience concealing corresponding physical responses I may have. I'm afraid it's never made me a very good poker player."

"You know," Booth said. "I've got an excellent poker face. I'm sure I could teach you,"

Leaning in, Brennan propped her elbows on the table, and rested her chin on her folded hands as she said, "That's a fascinating offer."

Booth, in response, leaned in a bit more towards her. "On one condition though."

"And, what's that? Because, if it's my agreement to make another prearranged social outing, I'm already going to say 'yes' to your suggested plan of action," Brennan told him.

"I like what I'm hearing," Booth said. "But, no… that's not it."

"What then?"

"What else can I call you besides 'Dr. Brennan' or 'Temperance'?" Booth inquired.

"Well," Brennan said. "My family calls me 'Tempe'."

"Better," Booth told her. "But, I still don't know if it's good enough."

"Then, what would you suggest?"

"I don't know. I could call you—" Booth was about to suggest the nickname 'Bones' when he stopped himself and quickly substituted something else that shot into his brain randomly from out of the blue. "—Bren?"

"'Bren'?" Brennan asked. "As in a nickname?"

"Yeah," Booth said. "'Bren'. What'd you think?"

"I think…I find your alternative proposal an acceptable compromise," she said with a smile.

* * *

><p>"You didn't have to walk me back, you know," Brennan told Booth as he escorted her inside the Jeffersonian's main entry way.<p>

One of the night security guards watched the pair with interest, attempting to appear occupied with work at his desk as he tried to make sense of the fact that it was *Dr. Brennan* returning late to the lab with a man that looked unfamilar to him. Not that Dr. Brennan coming into the lab late, or leaving it so long after normal business hours, was all that much of an unusual thing, in and of itself. No, Brennan tended to come and go as she pleased, at all hours of the day. However, returning to the lab, when no one had seen her since her lecture that *afternoon* certainly had gotten the gossips wagging. Moreover, it was *Brennan* returning to the lab with *someone*. She never did that, not ever. And, by all appearances, the guard could tell, the guy she was with didn't seem to be the normal sciency-type that Brennan and the other lab workers associated with... nope, not at all.

Brennan could feel they were being watched, and she looked up and waved at the desk.

"Good evening, Micah," Brennan called.

"Good evening, Dr. Brennan," came the response, as Micah looked up with a smile and a nod.

Pulling at Booth, she lowered her voice and said, "Come this way. Micah's watching us."

"The guard?" Booth clarified.

Brennan nodded.

"So?"

"I don't want him to hear us," Brennan said. "I don't like others gossiping about me."

Laughing, Booth said. "Oh, so if I follow you, does that mean there might be something happening that could be easily gossiped about?"

Brennan shot him a look of exasperation. Gesturing towards one of the crevices offered by one of the entry way columns, she sighed and said, "Please, Booth?"

"Oh, all right," he chuckled.

Following Brennan to stand beside the column, Booth said, "I know I didn't have to walk you back up, but it's late, and I wanted to be on the safe-side. But, if I knew it would be this fun, I would have done it for no other reason than to see you squirm."

"You're so mean to me," Brennan laughed.

"And, you love it."

"I shouldn't have let you walk me back up," Brennan said, with a small trace of a laugh still in her voice. Turning serious, Brennan said, "And, like I said, you really didn't have to do it. As you can see, Micah and the other guards keep the Jeffersonian quite secure, even this late at night. I know because I'm often here at all hours of the day and night. It's safe."

"Yeah, well, I know that," Booth said. "And, like I said... I didn't do it out of obligation. I did it because I wanted to do it."

"Okay," Brennan said smiling. "Your efforts are duly noted."

"And appreciated?"

"Maybe," Brennan said with a small, but myseterious smile playing at the edge of her lips.

The pair were quiet for a minute then, just standing in front of each other, unsure what to say, but certain that they didn't want to leave despite the advanced hour. Finally, always the more practical of the pair, it was Brennan who reluctantly looked at her watch and spoke.

"Well, it's late."

"Almost two o'clock," Booth agreed, glancing at his watch in a gestured that mirrored Brennan's. "Time flies when you're having fun."

"Time is encapable of assuming a corporeal or tangible form that would first be necessary for it to attempt to become airborne-"

"It's a figue of speech, Bren," Booth chuckled. "It means that things have seemed to pass at a faster pace for us because we've been distracted having an enjoyable evening."

"Ahh," Brennan said. "I understand now." She nodded, pleased with her new nugget of information and looked up at Booth, an usually honest and unguarded look appearing on hr face. "Despite the fact that logically I know I've spent the past twelve hours consecutively with you, it doesn't feel like that," Brennan said. "I've had…" She stopped, paused, and then looked up at him with a smile as she finished her sentence. "—a really *good* time, Booth."

He smiled at her candor. "Me too, Bren."

"So, you've got my phone numbers?" Brennan said, a bit of nervousness coming into her voice. "I put my apartment on there, but it's really better to try the number here at the lab first. I don't always have my cell phone on, because we only get 30 minutes a month, but if you ring it, I'll see the missed call and will telephone you back as soon as I do."

Lifting up a piece of paper covered in Brennan's scrawlings, Booth said, "Got it right here."

"So, you'll call me, then?"

"Definitely," Booth said, taking a step closer to her.

"You're certain? Because, I know that sometimes men only inquire of contact women from information whom they've just met as a way to collect symbolic tokens to bolster their feelings of masculinity, and don't necessarily plan to use the numbers they've managed to obtain.

"Why, Dr. Brennan... are you anxious about something?" Booth said, a teasing look coming into his eyes.

"No!" Brennan quickly replied... too quickly, she suddenly realized. Attempting to control her demeanor, Brennan said, "I just wish to know if I can allow myself the luxery of anticipating your next communication."

"Do you want to?" Booth asked, curious.

Brennan nodded. "Very much so."

"Consider it done," Booth said.

Brennan smiled. "Good. It's something I'll look forward to-"

"You know," Booth began. "I can be patient when I need to be, but I also very much like knowing things for sure as well. So instead of you waiting in anticipation for me to call, maybe you could deal with the disappointment of not being able to enjoy that feeling for too long since I'd much rather know right now when I can see you again."

Noticing that Booth had closed the distance so that only a foot or two separated them as he spoke, Brennan felt her heart begin to beat a little bit faster. She also came to realize that, just as Booth had apparently moved as he spoke, Brennan had apparently responded... because she quickly felt the firm and cold surface of the pillar's marble column against her back. Realizing that Booth had cornered her, Brennan looked up with a smile, and only stopped because she couldn't back away anymore. Booth, too, stopped, closing the space so that only a foot or two separated them. He watched her, his held tilted in interest as Brennan spoke.

"I have quite a flexible schedule here at the lab. It's one of the main reasons I took the job six months ago. Did you have a specific time in mind?"

"Yeah, I do." Booth said, his voice a bit husky as he said, "How about tomorrow? Dinner?"

"You don't have any other plans on such short notice?" Brennan asked, both hopeful and scared of how he would respond at the same time.

"Not anymore," Booth said. "Why don't I pick you up here at 7pm?"

A flush of warmth spreading over her, Brennan started to feel an unexpected giddyness at both pieces of information that Booth's words had conveyed to her.

"I find that proposal would be acceptable to me," Brennan managed at last.

Grinning an even bigger grin, one that stopped Brennan's rational mental processes - and if she had in any way knew it to be physically impossible, would have sworn caused her heart to stip a beat - Booth reached down and took her hand. Raising it to his lips, he softly kissed it before reluctantly letting it fall to her side. "I'll see you tomorrow at 7pm then."

"Seven o'clock," Brennan agreed. "Tomorrow. At 7pm."

"Don't be late," Booth said.

"I'm never late," Brennan responded breathlessly.

"Goodnight, Bren," Booth laughed. "Sweet dreams."

"Goodnight, Booth."

Turning around, Booth gave her one final smile over the edge of his shoulder before he walked back out the main door. Brennan, still in a bit of a daze at the day's events… or maybe it was just the fact that Booth had actually kissed her hand, walked back to her office in a daze… but, a euphoric daze that she didn't think she'd ever quite experienced before she meet one Master Sergeant Seeley J. Booth.

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	18. Ch 18: Booth and Brennan Go on a Date

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

A/N: So, it seems the most popular questions/topics of interest are the fate of Rebecca and the issue of Booth's memory. Hmmm. Well, all I'm going to say is that all questions will be address... and for those keeping track, we're now about 2/3 of the way through the story. Is that teasing too much? Also, just as an FYI, as a know a few people asked for an update. The prologue of the sequel to "Competing with Cam" has now been posted. It's called "Laughing during Sex" and is available under my story profile. Now, on with the show...~

* * *

><p>Chapter 18 – Booth and Brennan Go on a Date<p>

* * *

><p>The bright light of the afternoon sun flooded through the kitchen's bay windows, and Booth instinctively averted his eyes as he yawned, not quite awake yet.<p>

"Morning, sleeping beauty."

Hank Luttrell's booming voice rang out in the kitchen as Booth finished trudging down the final stairs, into the kitched, and headed straight for the coffee maker. Upon reaching the counter, Booth hoped his sense of smell was deceiving him when there wasn't any wonderful warm goodness wafting to his nostrils. Pulling out the coffee pot, Booth frowned in unhappiness. Raising his head to meet his friend's gaze, Booth gestured in the air with the empty carafe in his hand, making a vague gesture.

"Caffeine?" he grumbled.

Smiling a bit, Hank shook his head. "Sorry, buddy. If you want coffee, you're going to have to make a fresh pot. Janie drank the last of the stuff I made this morning… about three hours ago."

Scowling, Booth glanced at the clock, noticed it was well past noon, and shook his head in mock disbelief. "Sometimes I can't believe the inconsiderate things that woman does. How do you put up with it, Hank?"

"She's a great cook," Hank said. "And, pretty cute, too, so those go a long way towards overcoming the inconsiderate and imperious behavior of Queen Janie."

Booth laughed. "So, where is she? Don't you two normally like to tag team me on stuff like this?"

"Stuff like what?"

"Oh, save it, Hank," Booth chuckled. "I know you know that I know that you know something happened yesterday. So, why don't we just cut out all the hemming and hawing and just get to the thing you really want to ask me."

"I would, but I promised Janie I wouldn't ask you anything before she got back from the store. We agreed that if you told me voluntarily, that was one thing and I won't get into any trouble with her, but I'm not allowed to ask directly, or else she gets to chew my ass out since she gave me a direct order not to," Hank replied.

"I'm surprised she didn't come knocking on my door with a breakfast tray at 7am," Booth laughed.

"Well, she didn't want to wake you up when you had such a late night," Hank said, looking at Booth over the edge of the newspaper he was reading. "She thought at least a few hours of sleep wouldn't be a bad thing."

Going to a cabinet, Booth opened the door and took down the canister of coffee. Popping open the top, he took an appreciative whiff of the comforting aroma before spooning some of the grounds into the coffee maker. Hank said nothing as he watched his friend set the coffee to percolate and grabbed a bowl of Lucky Charms. As he waited for the coffee to be ready, Booth took his cereal to the table and sat down across from his friend. Booth, still waking up, took a couple bites before Hank began to grill him.

"So?"

"So, what?" Booth replied.

"Start volunteering," Hank said.

"Volunteering what?" Booth asked innocently.

"What's her name?" Hank asked.

His head snapping up in surprise, Booth said, "What's whose name?"

"Oh, come on, Booth!" Hank said. "Quite playing dumb. 'I know, you know, I know that you know', remember? Janie said you disappeared at 10:30am yesterday morning, and I know you didn't come stumbling back in here until well after 3am—"

"Oh, hey, I'm sorry. Was I too loud? I thought I was being quiet... err, at least I tried to be as quiet as I could," Booth said sheepishly.

Waving him off, Hank said, "Naaw, you were fine. I'm just a light sleeper. You know that."

"Even still, I'm sorry if I woke you or Janie up," Booth said. "I didn't mean to—"

"A.) Janie could sleep though an explosion caused by a dump truck going through a nitroglycerin plant in reverse. She wouldn't have heard you unless she was purposely staying up, Booth. B.) But, who cares about that?" Hank said, waving his hand off. "What I *do* care about is whoever this girl is who managed to hook the elusive Seeley J. Booth's interest for more than fifteen hours straight."

Unable to help himself, Booth blushed slightly as he said quietly, "Temperance."

"Temperance?" Hank said, the incredulity clearly present in his voice. as he made a face. "What... did her parents just hate or is she a Pilgrim?" Hank guffawed.

"No!" Booth said, immediately defending Brennan. Shaking his head, Booth watched as Hank grinned at his outburst. Lowering his tone, Booth added, "She's most definitely… not a Puritan."

"So, where'd you meet her, then?" Hank teased. "The library?"

"No, I didn't meet her at the library," Booth said sharply, shaking his head at his friend's taunt. "She's a scientist. I went to a presentation she was giving in downtown at the Jeffersonian."

"What?" Hank said, this time his disbelief genuine. "Why?"

Booth, scratching an itch at the bridge of his nose, suddenly realized that Hank had asked a very good question. Why *had* he gone to the Jeffersonian? He must of heard some type of radio advertisement or something? Maybe... yeah, maybe that was it.

"Since when do you give a rat's ass about public presentations at the friggin' *Jeffersonian*?"

"Because, I wanted to meet the guest speaker, Hank," Booth replied. _Oh, that's right, Brennan. I went to the Jeffersonian because of Brennan. How could I have forgotten that?, _Booth thought._ "_I'm not an idiot, Hank," again feeling slightly sensitive about the issue of his intellect. Booth couldn't really remember why, but he had a vague notion that someone else had recently insulted his intelligence. He struggled to recall when, but, after a minute gave up when it refused to come to him.

In the interum, Hank was staring at his friend, the surprise still clearly evident on his face. "I know that, Booth. I never said you were an idiot. I just didn't think you were into any of those squinty-type things. When I called Janie after lunch time to see how things went with Rebecca, I was surprised as hell when she said you cancelled on them. I thought you might've snuck off to one of the Capitals pre-season games and found a rink bunny. But, seriously? A scientist?"

Hank stopped and then said, "Wait. If you spent all afternoon and all night with her, that means she has to be hot. So… if she's a scientist, does that mean she's some hot teacher/librarian type who doesn't know how sexy she really is and that makes her even more smoking?"

Laughing, Booth said, "You've been married to Janie for more than six years. Talking like that, how'd you manage to pull that off again?"

"Because I talk like that," Hank said. "Now, answer the question."

Biting his lip back to keep from smiling, Booth tried to be as nonchalant as he could when he said, "She might be… fairly good looking."

"Oh, come on, Booth!" Hank said. "How long have you been holding out on me, man? It's no wonder you brushed off Janie's attempts at playing Cupid with Rebecca if you have a hot scientist chick on the line."

Hank's words suddenly grabbed Booth's attention.

*Rebecca*.

Booth realized he had forgotten about her. She was important. Rebecca... he needed to meet her, for some reason, he knew. But, Brennan... no, he needed to meet Rebecca. Booth couldn't remember why exactly, but it was important. Every single fiber of his being screamed it. Brennan would have to wait, but- "Yeah, about that," Booth began. "I still need to talk to Janie. Do you think she can still get a rain check from her friend? I still want to meet her…."

"Why?" Hank laughed.

Considering his question, Booth tilted his head and realized her didn't really have a good answer. Why indeed? What was so special about a woman he'd never met as compared to Brennan?

"One woman isn't enough to keep you occupied over the next month, Booth?" Hank laughed.

"It isn't like that," Booth began. "She's... she's *special*, Hank. She... this... this isn't the type of girl you just have a fling with... she's special."

"Wait, you mean to tell me you were out with her all last night, and you didn't even get laid?" Hank asked, clear disbelief blazing on his face. "I don't believe it."

"Believe it," Booth said, lifting a spoonful of cereal to his mouth. "It was as chaste as if we'd gone on a date with Sister Mary Frances as a chaperone."

"Sister Mary Frances, as in the sweet young nun with the reassuring smile who's still mostly normal, or Sister Mary Frances as in the scary old nun with the annoying ruler and really big crucifix?" Hank asked for clarification.

"Second one," Booth said.

"Wow," Hank said, leaning back in his chair. "You got no action last night whatsoever?"

"Nope, not unless you count when I held her hand," Booth told his friend. "Didn't even try to make a run at first base."

"But, you didn't strike out?" Hank asked, maintaining the baseball metaphor. "You didn't try anything and get shot down?"

"Hell no," Booth said, mildly offended. "It was just more like there was a meeting at the mound, and I'm still waiting for a the resumption of play since there's been a delay of game."

"Okay," Hank said. "So, answer my other question then."

"Which one is that?" Booth asked.

"What's this hot chick do again?" Hank repeated.

"Oh, right," Booth said. "Well, ah, she's a doctor," Booth began.

"A doctor?" Hank said. "And… is she the reason you were so late last night because you and the Pilgrim were playing doctor? Did she agree to make a house call?"

"No!" Booth laughed out loud. "I told you. We didn't... I didn't even kiss her, Hank."

"Riiggght-" Hank retorted. "You might be able to get other guys to fall for that crap, but, come on, Booth. It's me here. I know you better than that. You didn't get home until after 3am-"

"Even still, I swear," Booth insisted. "Nothing happened. All we did is talk."

"I know, I know, you told me you talked. What I want you to admit is what else you were doing while you were talking," Hank said. "Even if you guys were busy running your mouths, that doesn't necessarily preclude other activities happening, especially if the hot doc is the type that's mouthy in bed-"

Shaking his head slightly, Booth said, "When did you get this coarse, and I missed it?"

"Eight hours going through Pentagon B-S, Booth," Hank laughed. He took a moment to stop and look at his friend. Hank couldn't put his finger on the reason why, but something about Booth was different. He seemed... happier than Hank remembered seeing him in a long, long time. It cheered Hank, and made him cautiously opptimistic that maybe his plan for Booth, the one he had had in mind when he first talked to Janie about inviting Booth to stay with them on their leave, might be working out just as well, even if Janie's friend Rebecca *wasn't* involved. After their last rotation, Booth had been in a particularly cranky mood, one which Hank knew wouldn't be improved if he had to go home on leave to deal with the mess that was his family in Philly. Staying on base, puttering around an empty barracks while everyone else was gone, hadn't seemed to be much better of an idea. Booth didn't do well when he had too much time alone, and he needed to be recharged and ready to take on the world with the impending deployment next month. Hank had known that before his briefing yesterday, but now that he knew some of the details, he was even more firm in his resolution. When Janie had told Hank that Booth hadn't gone on the date, he initially had some concern. But, now, seeing him, Hank thought Booth seemed to be less stressed and in a better frame of mind than Hank had seen in a long, long time - and that was only *one* day after meeting this doctor. Who knew what could happen after a second day? Nodding at Booth, his tone became a bit more serious, Hank said, "So, all kidding aside, you going to see her again?"

"Yup," Booth said. "We've got a date tonight. I'm picking her up for dinner at 7pm."

"Wow!" Hank said, clearly impressed. His instincts seemed to be dead on, after all. Booth hadn't been lying when he said the girl was special. For him to move that quickly, well, it had to be for an important reason since Booth never did things on impulse. "You aren't wasting any time, are you?"

"Nope," Booth said. Glancing at the clock, Booth said, "I know you heard me come in when it was close to three. I didn't fall asleep until sometime after four. Now, it's almost one. And, I still don't know how in the hell I'm going to do this. I don't have a lot of time if I'm going to be able to get ready tonight and not be late picking her up."

Frowning, Hank said, "You have at least five hours before you'd have to leave to meet her, even with downtown traffic. What do you need five hours to get ready for? Do you need to get your hair and nails done to make yourself look all pretty, Booth? If you want the name and number of Janie's salon, I'm sure they could probably fit you in for a last minute mani and a pedi-"

Standing up, Booth hit the back of Hank's head lightly as he walked to the coffee maker to pour himself a cup once it had finished brewing.

"Har har har… funny, Hank," Booth said, "Very funny."

"Then, what's going to take so long?" Hank rubbing the spot on his head where Booth had .

"I, ah… I have to go shopping," Booth reluctantly admitted.

"Like I said, total chick, Booth," Hank scoffed.

"It's not that," Booth said. "I, ah, just... I need to buy a suit, okay? I don't have one with me, and I need to wear a suit tonight."

"Ohhh? He wants to look pretty?"

"No!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sure, Booth, whatever you say."

"Oh, you know what, bite me, Hank, okay?" Booth said playfully.

"Man," Hank said, shaking his head as he laughed. "This must be some chick if she's turned the almighty Seeley Booth into a complete and total *girl*."

* * *

><p>Several hours later, Booth stood in front of the Jeffersonian's main entrance, in almost exactly the same spot he had left Brennan at the night before. She stood there waiting for him, a bit nervous in her stance until she saw him, when Brennan stopped fidgetting and relaxed with a smile.<p>

"I… ah… wow!" Booth said, looking at Brennan, his eyes going up and down her body as he took her efforts to dress for the evening, with an appreciative gleam in his eyes. "You look… just… wow."

Dressed in a causal dark purple knit dress and simple black heels, Brennan's look was casual. Her hair lay pinned messily to her head, random wisps escaping, that somehow looked charming on Brennan, as opposed to as it would appear unkempt on other people. Although she didn't wear much makeup, just a hint of blush and a clear lip gloss, Booth still thought she looked as gorgeous as he had ever seen her. Her beauty increased ten-fold when her normally serious face broke into a nervous smile.

"Thank you," Brennan said. "You look very aesthetically pleasing as well."

When Booth had gone to the mall earlier in the day to buy the suit of which he had spoken to Hank, once he pulled it on, he realized how much he had grown used to wearing it in the few years he had been at the FBI. Stopping himself, Booth shook his head. FBI? What was that? He hadn't done anything with the FBI. It had always been an idea he had kicked around for life post-Rangers, but it hadn't really ever been anything more than an idea at this point. And, suits? He didn't wear suits in the Army. Sunday mass? Sure. But, suits? No. He wore his uniform, not suits. Or, did he? He *was* an FBI agent. He knew that. But, he was a Ranger. Nope, this was suddenly getting too confusing. Shaking his head, Booth pushed away the unclear thoughts. They would keep. However, Booth still had to admit that he did feel more comfortable and confident in himself while he wore the suit, for whatever reason. Turning his attention back to Brennan, he waved her off with a self-depreciating smile of his own.

"It's just a suit and tie. It's nothing, really."

"No," Brennan said. "The black pinstripe pattern of your suit enhances the illusion that you possess a greater height and increased body mass while the dark blue color of your tie flatters your dominant genetic coloring. It's a very pleasing… and effective combination."

"So, you think I look good in this suit?" Booth asked.

"I believe that's what I just said, yes," Brennan confirmed.

Laughing, Booth extended his arm to her. "I left the cab waiting outside, if you're ready to go?"

"That's not necessary," Brennan said, not taking the arm, but, reaching into her purse and pulling out a set of keys instead. "If you're not in possession of a motor vehicle given the nature of your temporary residence in Washington, I have my car. There's no need to waste money on a cab, unless you foresee us imbibing a significant amount of alcohol that will impair our ability to operate an automobile at some point in the course of our nightly activities."

"Is that your way of asking if I plan to get you drunk, Bren, or is that how you're telling me what you've got planned for me so that you can have your way with me later?" Booth joked.

A strange look coming into her eye, Brennan said, "Although we've only known each other for a relatively short period of time, would there be an issue if I expressed a desire to… how did you put it? 'Have my way with you?'"

His eyes widening a bit at her candor, Booth shook his head with a laugh as he noted, "Boy, that directness of yours still takes some getting used to—"

"Please don't attempt to evade my question, Booth," Brennan insisted.

"I'm not," Booth said quickly in defense of himself. "Believe me, I'm not."

"Then, the answer to my question is?" Brennan asked again.

"Bren… you may find this a bit much to believe, but right now? I have absolutely no problems with *any* aspects your proposal… none whatsoever," Booth chuckled.

"Hmmm... good," Brennan said with a nod, her eyes sweeping Booth's tall frame from head to toe and back again. "Then, can we take my car?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Because," Booth said. "If we take your car, that means you get to drive."

"So?" Brennan responded, slightly confused. "I'm an *excellent* driver, Booth."

"Maybe, maybe not," Booth said. "But, I like to be the one to drive… and since I don't have my car, that means we're taking the cab, okay?"

Reluctantly, Brennan put her keys back into her purse and said, "I suppose, if it's something you feel strongly about, your plan is acceptable."

Gesturing to the door, with one arm, Booth took the other and placed it on the small of Brennan's back to guide her forward. She looked at his actions with an assessing quirk of her head, but said nothing. Grinning at her again, Booth said, "After you, then, Bren."

* * *

><p>Several hours later, the pair found themselves wondering the sidewalks of the National Mall, walking along the edge of the Reflecting Pool. It wasn't terribly late, but they had finished dinner, and while Booth had agreed to Brennan's suggestion that they make their way to a little piano bar she knew for a round of after-dinner drinks, neither one was quite ready for the intimacy of such a bar just yet. So, they had ended up at the Mall, just strolling and chatting and laughing as the hours melted away.<p>

"Oh, come on!" Brennan exclaimed.

"What?" Booth said. "It's the truth."

"No way," Brennan replied. "No way are you that good a shot."

"It's kinda what my thing is, Bren. I'm mean, you know how bones are your thing? Well… shooting things is kind of mine."

"But, you said you were in the Army," Brennan protested in confusion. "Are you telling me that your entire job in the army is to shoot your gun?"

Nodding, Booth pulled her arm a bit tighter against his as they walked forward. "Yeah, I am. It's not like once you get in the Army they don't expect you not to actually *do* something… you just can't stand around and say 'yeah, I'm in the Army.' They like you to do stuff... and, well, that's what I do."

"Shoot people?" Brennan asked.

"Well," Booth chuckled. "It's a bit more complicated than that, but, yes… that's what snipers do… they shoot at things… and, yeah, they shot at people, sometimes, too."

"So, your job is to shoot at things… and you're so good at it that you hold the current record for making the longest shot in a combat situation?" Brennan parroted back to him.

"Well over a kilometer," Booth said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Or, so I'm told."

"I find this revelation intriguing," Brennan admitted. "I find the idea of the primary duty of your employment being based on your ability to shoot things to be… highly appealing and attractive notion, Booth."

Stopping them, Booth gestured to a bench. Brennan followed his lead and sat down on the bench to which he had pointed. Booth joined her and said, "You know, Bren… it's… a lot more than that."

Catching the seriousness in his voice, Brennan nodded. "I know that."

"No, you don't."

"Okay," Brennan conceded, noting the density shift in Booth's tone. "Then, you'll tell me," Brennan said. "When you're ready, you'll explain it to me and tell me."

"My, my," Booth said, looking at her carefully , focusing on her eyes. Brennan shivered a bit at the weight of his gaze, and again, realized another shift had occurred as Booth spoke. "You're quite sure of yourself, aren't you?"

"Am I wrong?" Brennan questioned. "I realize that, technically, this is only our second date… but—"

"But?"

"But," Brennan said. "For some inexplicable reason… when I'm with you… I just… it's different, and I feel there's a certain momentum to the progression of events when I'm with you. I didn't anticipate this occurring, but I've been thinking about it a lot today, and it's just, well, it's... different."

"Different from what?"

"Different from when I've gone out with other men on dates," Brennan said. "I mean, it's true I haven't dated a lot of me. I... I broke up with my last boyfriend a few months ago and haven't really been seeing anyone since then before yesterday when you asked me out. I haven't wanted to, really, because I've been so busy. But, you... besides the fact that I find you very aesthetically appealing and respond to your physical attributes like the wide breadth of your shoulders… I-I… this experience of interacting with you is completely unlike any I've ever had before, and I'd be lying if I did admit that I was unable to sleep at all last night in anticipation of our rendezvous this evening, part from the excitement of anticipation… but, also because I've been trying to make some sense out of this."

"This what?"

"How… how I respond to things when I'm with you," Brennan said. She sighed in frustration. "I… it makes no logical sense. I've haven't even know you for more than forty-eight hours, but… I know I feel more comfortable and at ease in the few hours I've spent with you than I've ever been around another man." She shook her head and said, "I apologize if I'm not conveying my meaning as clearly as I normally communicate. But, I find that it's extremely difficult to do when I'm trying to understand what's going on—"

"Bren?" Booth asked.

Looking up at him, Brennan said, "Yes, Booth?"

"Can I give you a piece of advice?" Booth asked.

"Of course."

"If… for some reason you can't explain… you think this thing between you and I might be going somewhere… then, don't try to over think it. Don't analyze it do death. Just take things one step at a time and enjoy what you're feeling. Everything else… it'll work itself out," Booth said softly.

Sighing again, Brennan said, "You have no idea how difficult what you're asking me to do is… what you basically want me to do is demonstrate faith—"

Chuckling, Booth said, "Well, from a certain perspective, I guess you could call it that."

A breeze in the late night autumn sky rippled through the sidewalk at the Mall where Booth and Brennan sat. Still frustrated, Brennan opened her mouth to contradict Booth's response again, when suddenly, Booth raised his hand to her face, leaned in, and gently pressed a kiss to her mouth. Clearly surprised, Brennan took a few seconds to swallow the verbal diatribe she had been about to unleash and allow herself to fall into the enjoyment offered by the warmth of Booth's kiss. She was just starting to respond when Booth pulled back, and smiled at her.

"Better?"

Biting her bottom lip, Brennan nodded, suddenly a bit shy as she softly replied, "Yes."

"Good."

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	19. Ch 19: Brennan's Fight with Michael

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

A/N: For those to whom such a story might appeal, some of you might like to know that a collaboration that I've been working on with the fantabulous dharmamonkey has been posted to fanfic dot net. The story's title is "Costly Signals: Part One" and is listed under her author profile. It's a very hot little number that is of the M variety that was built on the inspirational fact that on a bad day, anyone is capable of just about anyone (and, yes, for those DC comic fans around, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't inspired by the Joker in that little ditty - fans of "the Killing Joke" will know of which I speak). Sexy situations abound with angry!Booth and mouthy!Brennan. If you're interested, I suggest you take a look because it's probably the hottest little smut piece I've ever helped to write (insert blush here). I'll be posting the second half of that story under my profile quite shortly. So, check it out if you're into that kind of thing. And, if not... well, on with *this* show.~

* * *

><p>Chapter 19 – Brennan's Argument with Michael<p>

* * *

><p>A little while later, Booth eventually made his way back to the Lutrells after his date with Brennan had ended. After he had kissed her, really as an attempt to get her to stop talking more than anything else, a quite spectacular, but very PG exchange of kisses on a random bench near his favorite coffee cart at the Mall. Very pleased with himself, Booth eventually stood up, pulled Brennan tightly towards his side, and clasped his arm with hers as they headed in the direction of the piano bar. A few drinks later, the jazz and some very sensual dancing on the piano bar's small wooden dance floor having mellowed them, Booth took a cab with Brennan to drop her off in front of her apartment. One final kiss, where there was tongue contact - initiated by Brennan, not by him, Booth thought wryly - had left Booth in a very, very positive frame of mind before he reluctantly said goodnight and promised he would call Brennan then next morning.<p>

While Booth enjoyed the silence of the cab ride back to Alexandria, as the Metro had stopped running by the time of night at which he was returning, Booth decided a call wasn't good enough. Flowers, he would send her flowers in the morning. But, not roses. Roses were... too trite. He needed something better. Carnations, maybe? Nope, it evoke too much of a 'congratulations on your work promotion' or 'sorry for your loss' thought, it seemed to Booth. Maybe... daisies? Hmmm, that was odd, Booth thought. Daisies seemed even more plain and commplace than the carnation idea. But, for some reason, he liked the idea. Daisies, yeah... that seemed... *appropriate* somehow. He'd call the florist first thing in the morning.

Upon entering his bedroom, Booth was whistling a random 80s song that he had heard on the radio home, Foreigner's music always getting stuck in his head. Undressing and getting ready for bed, Booth, alone for the first time since he had awoken earlier that morning, glanced around the room and his eyes focused on his laptop. Suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, realized something he hadn't even given a single second's thought since he had met Brennan at the Jeffersonian lecture.

Brennan...

Brennan's *mother*...

Shot... he had been shot...

Sully...

Chicago...

Booth's mother...

2006.

_'Remember… don't forget… and protect her, Seeley Booth. Protect her. *Save* her.'_

Brennan.

Stires.

Brennan... Stires admitting that he had murdered her. Brennan... dead. A skull staring back up at him in the Jeffersonian's Medico-Legal lab bone room... nausea.

"Oh, God," Booth mumbled, the world spinning around him a bit, and the memory of when he had thrown up now manifesting itself in the here and now. Booth knew if he wasn't careful, he was going to be sick again.

Brennan.

"No," Booth muttered to himself, closing his eyes shut and shaking his head in frustration. "*No*."

He was forgetting, Booth suddenly realized. How? How could he have forgotten? How could he not have remembered all of it? It was *so* important. Stires. Stires was going to kill Brennan. He was going to murder her in less than two weeks. And, Booth... Booth was the only one who knew that, the only one who could protect her, save her... and Booth was forgetting.

Sighing heavily, Booth looked off into the distance, not really focusing on any one spot in particular, as he shook his head in frustration. "You didn't tell me about this part, Ma," Booth said quietly to himself. "Man..."

Booth was forgetting. But, his resolve hardening, Booth knew that he couldn't forget. He would remember. He'd make himself remember because he had to... he couldn't forget. He *had* to remember.

Walking to the desk where his laptop stood untouched since the Monday morning earlier in the week when all this had began, Booth grabbed a small blue notebook and pen. Flipping open the cover of the notebook, Booth hastily began to scribble his notes, desparately trying to recall everything he could. However, even as he continued to write, Booth knew, much as the details and nuances of a dream fade away in the morning, Booth was losing details. Important details. Details he needed to remember. They were disappearing. Quickly. Too quickly. Sighing again, Booth did the only thing he could think to do and continued to write.

* * *

><p>Dr. Temperance Brennan was *not* in a good mood. She had been, fifteen minutes earlier. She had been in a *very* good mood. But, now... *now* she was in a very bad mood, and it was all because of the tall, dark-haired, and dark-eyed man sitting in front of her.<p>

"I don't think it's a good idea that you feel that you can stop by here any time the whim takes you, Michael," Brennan said, the level of increasing annoyance evident in her voice. "This is where I work. When I'm here, I can't afford to be distracted. A certain level of professional decorum has to be maintained. You should know that since you were one of the people who imparted that principle to me during grad school. However, once again, you just showing up out of the blue like this, and expecting me to stop what I'm doing had disrupted my work, it's not professional. Further, it doesn't endear you to me on a personal level."

Sitting on the edge of the couch in her office, Dr. Michael Stires stared at Brennan. It was October 24th, and when he had arrived at Washington National Airport from O'Hare earlier that Friday morning, Stires had envisioned sweeping Brennan off her feet, out the front door of the Jeffersonian's lab, and into a whirl-wild weekend of fun. Stires had not seen Brennan in a little over two months. The start of the academic semester at Northwestern had demanded his full attention with the beginning of classes. When he had left her in mid-August, it had been on tentatively civil, but amorphous, terms. Stires had hoped that his surprise arrival might catch Brennan off-guard so that he might *finally* have a chance at being successful at wooing her into a firm agreement to not only formally resume their romantic relationship… but, in a best case scenario, escalate it to the next level. What he found when he surprised Brennan with a bouquet of a dozen red roses in his hand was not the happy and enthusiastic reaction he had hoped to witness upon seeing Brennan realize he had come for a visit.

"I'm sorry, Tempe," he said, trying to sound contrite. "I wanted to surprise you, that's all."

"Michael, after almost three years, you should know very well by now that I don't like surprises," she scowled at him. "You should've called."

"Well, next time, I will. Promise," he said, trying to give her a charming smile that he knew usually melted her icy exterior towards him.

"Make sure that you do," Brennan said tersely, frowning as she thought that his was the last grin that she really wanted to be seeing right now.

A bit put off by her abrupt response, as the smile almost always worked wonders with her, Stires stood and tried to hand her the roses. Brennan's frown deepened at the sight of them, but she did reluctantly accept them from Michael's outstretched hand.

"These are for you, you know," Stires said softly.

"Thank you," Brennan said. "They look to be of an extremely high quality that indicates they must've been very expensive. You really shouldn't have spent your money on me like that, Michael. It's not appropriate."

"Why not?" Stires said, a bit of suspicion coming into his voice. "You're special to me, Tempe. There's nothing that's too good for you."

"I find your roamntic sentiments somewhat trite, Michael, and further, somewhat inappropriate," Brennan sighed, moving to set the bouquet on her desk. As she turned, her eyes lingered on a vase of flowers that stood on the edge of the desk. Stires thought he caught a small smile play at the edge of her lips as she glanced at the slightly wilting modest arrangement of daffodils, daisies, and baby's breath. However, when Brennan turned to look back at Stires, her frown was still in place, and he thought he might've imagined it.

Deciding to see if he had or not, Stires grinned as he said, "It seems as if I'm not the only guy who's been bringing you flowers lately, Tempe. Who are those from?"

Glancing back at the bouquet, again, if it had been anyone else who was less familiar with Brennan's facial expressions than Stires, they would have missed it. However, Stires saw the look on Brennan's face that registered as she looked at the flowers, back to Stires, and waved it off nonchalantly. "I did a public presentation on the status of my current research into the prehistoric hunter murder investigation here at the Jeffersonian a couple of weeks ago. One of the individuals who attended was impressed and appreciative enough by my talk that they chose to send flowers to me as a thank you. While it was an unnecessary gesture, I was appreciative of their admiration just the same."

"'They'?" Stires repeated. "Why 'they' Tempe?"

"I'm uncertain as to what you are inquiring about, Michael," Brennan said lightly.

"You said 'one of the individuals' and then used the pronoun 'they.' Considering the fact that I know it is almost physically impossible for you to make such a blatant grammatical error, I can only infer you chose the noun that hides gender because you don't want me to know if a man or a woman sent you flowers," Stires said. "Am I correct?"

Suddenly, anger flashing in her eyes, Brennan said, "And, if you are, so what?"

"You have a man sending you flowers, Tempe?" Stires said, a bit hardness coming into his voice, giving it a very sharp edge. "Since when?"

"'Since when' is none of your business, Michael," Glancing at the wall clock, Brennan knew she didn't have much time to waste if she was going to leave in enough time to get home, changed, and meet Booth for their date that was scheduled later that evening. "Now, it's late, and I really need to get back to work. I'm glad you safely arrived in DC from Chicago, but I have to go."

"Wait," Stires said, panicking as he took a step toward her, hands open in concilation. "Please, Tempe? Can't you take a break for just a few minutes? I… you're right. I have no right to ask who's sending you flowers or not. I just… I came to see you, Tempe. I thought maybe… we could talk?"

Shaking her head, Brennan said, "I'm afraid that's not possible. You really should've called, Michael."

Narrowing his eyes, Stires said, "Why isn't it possible?"

"Because," Brennan said. "Not that it's any of your business, but I already have plans tonight."

"But, I came over seven hundred miles to see you, Tempe. I thought we might go to dinner tonight, spend the weekend together?"

"No," Brennan said emphatically. "I'm sorry. I can't."

"Why not?" Stires said, some of the anger he had been holding back finally creeping into his voice. "What? Do you have a date or something?"

"And, if I did, what's it to you?" Brennan snapped, angry at Stires' presumption, the fact he was making her late, and, most importantly of all, he was ruining her mood that had been quite upbeat in anticipation of her date with Booth. "We aren't dating, Michael. We broke up months ago."

Sneering, Michael's eyes fell on the bouquet of daisies and daffodils on Brennan's desk. "What? Is it the schmuck who sent you the cheap flowers?"

"Shut up, Michael," Brennan said. "Don't you dare say one more word."

"Or, what, Tempe?" Stires said. "What exactly are you going to do?"

"Call security, have them physically remove you from the premises, and watch them throw you out the front door on your sorry ass," Brennan snapped, pleased with herself when she saw the effectiveness of employing one of the colorful metaphors Booth had taught her had in dealing with Stires. He continued to stare at her in disbelief, but said nothing. Shaking her head, Brennan remodulated her tone so that it was a bit more even before she spoke again. "You shouldn't have come here, Michael. This is where I work. We're not together right now. We aren't going to be. I haven't seen you in over two months, and I don't even know why you would think you can just waltz in here and think I'd be at your beck and call. We never really were even like that when we *were* together. You don't have any say in who I see or not. So, get out."

"Who is he?"

"Someone who cares about me a whole hell of a lot more than you ever did," Brennan snapped, getting tired of having to explain herself to Michael and wasting more time. She just wanted him *gone*. "Now, GET. OUT."

"Oh, I'll go, Tempe. But, I'll be back. We're *not* done with this conversation, yet… no matter what stupid asshole you're slutting around with tonight," Stires said with a vicious smirk.

Immediately, Brennan's hand came up and smack Stires solidly in the face. Brennan had moved so quickly, neither one of them ever really had time to process what she had done as the resounding *CRACK* of the slap echoed through the stillness of the office's air. Stires stared at her in stunned and angry shock… which quickly transitioned to rage.

"You stupid bitch-"

"GET. OUT."

Shaking his head, Stires raised his hand to touch the cheek she had touched tenderly. Staring at her with a pure, red-hot rage that radiated off of him, Stires turned and stalked out her office. Brennan, clutching both her hands tightly, lips pursed, spat out a foul explicative before she glanced at the clock. Knowing that she was going to be late, but having no other choice, Brennan quickly grabbed her belongings… stopping only long enough to dump the bouquet of roses Stires had brought her in the trash as she walked out the door.

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry," Brennan repeated for the third time. "I know you got all dressed up to go out to that new restaurant that I know if must have taken you forever to get reservations for—"<p>

Booth and Brennan sat on her couch, each one sitting Indian-style with their legs tucked up underneath them. Booth was in a dressy, yet understated dark blue button-down shirt and wore black trousers. He had long ago abandoned his leather jacket and kicked off his shoes. Brennan, for her part, sat facing him in a pair of black yoga pants and a plain bright green short sleeve t-shirt. Each one of them held a different carton of take-out, and Booth stopped his chop sticks in mid-air at her words.

"You've apologized about five times already, Bren," Booth said. "And, as I told you on the previous five occasions, it's no big deal. I like going out just as much as they next guy, but staying in sometimes is good, too."

"Then, how come we've never done it before?" Brennan asked, her tone changing a bit as she vocalized the question.

"Well," Booth said. "You know I'm staying with my friends Hank and Janie since I'm on leave here… and so, it's not as if I can just invite you back to their house, unless you want the whole standard interrogation. They're curious, by the way, just in case you're wondering, and they *do* want to meet you."

"Well, we *have* been spending an inordinate amount of time together," Brennan said. "We've seen each other on ten of the past twelve days, and on the two evenings when we didn't go out, we stayed up talking on the phone until it was the middle of the night."

"What?" Booth said, a bit concerned. Trying to play it off as a joke, Booth teased, "You're getting tired of me already, Bren? Are you on Booth-overload?"

Shaking her head, Brennan smiled as narrowed her eyes at him and said, "No, not at all. I told you already… I have very good stamina and very highly evolved skills of endurance, Booth." She stopped, tilted her head at him in a very uncharacteristic, but quite coquettish manner as she said, "What ever you can dish out, I think I can take it, Booth."

At her somewhat blatant reference, rife with what could be double meanings and sexual innuendo, Booth half-coughed as he swallowed a bit of rice that had stuck in his throat. Brennan had caught him off-guard more and more in the past couple of days, being somewhat sly in the increasing - what Booth could only describe as sexual - nature of the comments she was making. Brennan's comments hadn't been overt, and she definitely had a significant amount of plausibility if she did get caught making sexual comments in a situation where they might be inappropriate or unwelcome, but Booth was starting to wonder….

"Yeah, well… like I was saying," he continued, deciding to shrug of this latest comment, just in case he had misperceived her intentions. "Since I don't have a place of my own to take you back to, it wasn't really right for me to just invite myself back to your place."

"If I had known you were simply waiting for an invitation to come to my apartment, I would've extended one long before this," Brennan said.

"That's sweet, Bren," Booth said. "Thanks."

"You're quite welcome," Brennan said. "I just hope that you know I didn't invite you here merely for the reason of having possessed a desire to be in a more private atmosphere with you than our public engagements have allowed as I have felt for several days now. I really did have a bad day at work."

There it was again. Another hint. Another little stone thrown at him. Booth shook it off again, reluctantly dismissing it, as he focused on Brennan's final comment.

"What was so bad about it? You always seem to love you squint time at the lab," Booth said.

Setting down his carton, Booth reached for a container on the coffee table that he knew held the egg rolls they had ordered.

Sighing heavily, Brennan said, "I just had an unexpected visitor interrupt my schedule and then say some very untoward comments that put me in a decidedly negative frame of mind."

"Oh?" Booth said. "Do I sense the brewing of a squint-to-squint smack down? One of the other lab rats stepping on your toes or something, Bren?"

"No," Brennan said. "Nothing so exciting. One of my old professors from Chicago just showed up out of the blue today without even so much as a call. When I told him I couldn't go to dinner with him because I already had plans, he reacted… poorly."

Hiding his free hand from her behind his back, Booth felt it clench into as tight a fist as possible as he set the container of egg rolls down. Over the past few weeks, the more time Booth spent in 1998, the more his other life from 2006 started to fade. He wasn't forgetting things, per se… it was just that each day he spent here, particularly when he spent time with Brennan, things got a little more hazy in his memory. However, since he had made his resolution not to forget, and continued to read his notebook each morning when he awoke, and each night before he went to sleep, the one thing that had not dimmed in his memory was his raging hatred for one Dr. Michael Stires. A part of Booth had been wondering and waiting to know when he would finally show up, but the other part of him had been too enthralled in spending time with Brennan as he had so that he had almost forgotten it. Chosing his words, carefully, Booth finally replied.

"Oh, really? What happened?"

Sighing again, Brennan waved him off. "If you really want to know, I'd be more than willing to discuss it later, but right now, could we talk about something else? I find when I think of Michael that the probablity of the symptoms I've felt all afternoon indicating the possible onset of a tension headache merely increase for me, and I would like to avoid that from happening, especially since I'm here with you, Booth."

Looking at her carefully, Booth bit back another response. He saw the stress in her shoulders, and knowing Stires as he did, Booth assumed that whatever he had said to Brennan must have been fairly bad if it had affected her mood this much. Slowly, he gave her a wide grin as he said comfortingly, "Sure, Bren. Whatever you want."

"Do you mean that, Booth?" Brennan asked, a smile of gratitude meeting his.

"Of course," Booth said. "Whatever you want, it's yours."

"Anything?" Brennan repeated, her tone changing again, just a bit.

Booth noticed the change in her voice, but shook it off. "Yeah, sure, Bren. Anything, why?"

Booth, who had been expected a verbal response, didn't even have time to tense a single muscle in anticipation when Brennan suddenly launched herself up from her seat and threw herself on top of him. Booth fell backwards onto his side of the couch, and Brennan grinned at him as befuddled confusion shone on his face while she leaned down over him.

"You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that," Brennan breathed. Her face was flushed slightly, and her eyes shone brightly with excitement. She leaned down and brought her lips to his.

Brennan's lips met Booth's in a very gentle kiss, which, after a delayed response of about thirty seconds, Booth started to return. Reaching up, his hand went to the back of her head and pulled at the elastic holding it back in its pony tail. Pulling at her hair, Booth ran his fingers through it, a part of his mind marveling at its softness, and realizing how good it felt to touch her like this. However, he didn't do anything else, and Boothactually lessened his response to the kiss, as his thoughts drifted. Noticing the change in his response, after a minute more, Brennan slowly pulled back, a small frown on her face.

"Booth?"

"Yeah, Bren?"

"Is there… something wrong?"

Struggling to sit up, Booth's brow furrowed in confusion and concern. "W-what?"

"Is there something wrong?" Brennan repeated, as she looked at him, a bit of confusion and hardness coming onto her face.

"No," Booth said, shaking his head. "Why would you ask me that?"

"Because," Brennan began. "We've been out on ten different dates and have spent approximately 115 hours of the past 288 hours either together or in communication. However, in all that time, you've only kissed me, *really* kissed me, on that one occasion. Since that one evening when we went to the jazz club, your behavior has been most... chaste. And, I was just wondering if there was something wrong, perhaps, that you might wish to share with me that would help me to understand your behavior?" Brennan asked.

"No, nothing's wrong with me," Booth said shaking his head. "I'm fine."

"Ahh," Brennan said, paling a bit, but then nodding her head firmly. "Then, perhaps it's me. Somehow, I must've misread your intentions at some point, and my mistake has led to my current state of confusion."

"My intentions?" Booth asked.

"Yes," Brennan said. "I thought after you kissed me on the bench at the Mall on our second date, and we proceeded to make out, and then we went dancing, and then you kissed me goodnight, that you were physically attracted to me. In fact, I was almost certain of it, given what I took to ample evidence of the fact. It was almost an overwhelming amount of evidence, but, since that night, I must admit that I've been somewhat confused as to why, aside from sitting close to me and occasionally linking your arm with mine, touching me on the small of my back, or holding my hands, why you've made no other sexual overtures since that night aside from the chaste kisses you give me upon arriving or departing from my company. I now understand I must've misinterpreted your intentions as sexual when they were, in fact, platonic. For making that mistake, I apologize."

"What?" Booth said, not knowing everything Brennan had just half-rambled, but his gut telling his the general gist of the confused rant wasn't good. "I'm not certain I got every word you just said in that mini-ramble, Bren, but did I hear you correctly when you said you think you were wrong in your first thought that being that I was attracted to you? Do you really think I only have a platonic interest in you?"

"Yes," Brennan nodded. "Platonic, as in friendly. You have no romantic interest in me, most likely due to a lack of sexual attraction to me on your part. Correct?"

"No!" Booth protested immediately. The vehemance of his loud exclamation took Brennan back a bit in surprise, and Booth immediately lowered his voice as he said, "I mean, yes, yes, I do."

"I'm confused again, then," Brennan said, her brow furrowing to match her words. "Which is it? Either you do have a sexual interest in me, no matter how slight, or you don't."

"I do," Booth said quickly. Leaning forward, he reached up and grabbed one of Brennan's hands. He clasped it tightly, and said, "Of course, I do. Yes. God, yes, I do, Bren. And, it's more than just slight. Way more."

"Then why have you not responded to any of the verbal cues I've made over the past couple of weeks when I made intimations about sexual attraction and coitus, Booth? I admit, I'm somewhat limited in my practical experience in sexual matters, but my research has shown that the normal way a female indicates to a male during courtship rituals that if he made any sexual overtures towards her, they would not be unwelcome nor met with resistance of any kind, are with such verbal cues," Brennan said.

"Oh, well, they are," Booth assured her. "I just- I, ah… well, Bren, to be quite honest… I didn't want to rush you if you were interested. And, I wasn't quite certain if you really knew what you were telling me or if it was just a coincidence—"

"It's not, and I am," Brennan said firmly. Leaning in towards him, she took her free hand and caressed his cheek with the back of it as she said, "I've been interested since the initial incident when I saw you smile at me, Booth. On the very first day. You've got a *great* smile, you know?"

"Oh, really?" Booth said. "So, it was my grin that got me in the door with you?"

"Metaphorically speaking, yes," Brennan said. "So, now, clearing up any other potential misunderstandings due to communication errors, let's just make certain we understand each other."

"Okay," Booth said. "So, you're into me… that… way?"

"Sexually?" Brennan clarified. Booth blushed, but nodded. Brennan chuckled, and then said, "Yes, I am. And, do you... find me sexually attractive?"

"God, yes," Booth said. "More than you'll ever know."

"All right," Brennan said. "So, now we've established the fact that we're both sexually attracted to one another. Based upon that fact, I would like to register my preference that we alter our actions so that things get a bit more… physical. And, by that, I mean, I would like you to stop kissing me as if I was your sister. I don't want any more physical attention from you if it can be described, in any way, as innocent or chaste."

"That would imply what exactly?"

"For starters?" Brennan asked. "The next time you kiss me, it better involve your tongue in my mouth or my tongue in your mouth and an exchange of bodily fluids, Booth."

Booth laughed at her aggressive bluntness. "If this is the way that you squints come on to people, I think I like it, Bren."

She arched an eyebrow at him to confirm his assumption, but gave no verbal response to his words. Instead, Brennan pushed aside his hands, reached down, and began to tug at the shirt he had tucked into his trousers. Booth watched her, eyes darkening with lust as Brennan pulled the shirt loose and plucked the bottom two buttons free. It was just far enough so that she could see the beginning flash of skin, and Brennan became extremely encouraged by the site. She took her hand and snaked it underneath his shirt. Booth drew in a swift breath as her hand encountered the warm flesh of his stomach. Suddenly, Booth felt a tightening in the vicinity of his groin. He knew that, if he wasn't careful, things could get out of hand very, very fast. Taking control of the situation so that he could moderate the pace of things a bit more successfully, enough to encourage and reassure Brennan, but also not too much so that he didn't take this further than either one of them was ready for right niw, Booth shifted his body so that soon his was the one covering Brennan's. She lay down on her back on the opposite end of the couch and looked up at him with her blue eyes darkening into a color Booth had never seen before and that he immediately decided was his new favorite color. When he reached down to kiss her, this time, all thoughts of being chaste and gentle briefly escaped his mind, and Brennan only seemed all too eager to acquiesce to his non-verbal suggested coure of action.

For the next hour, Booth and Brennan remained steadfastly involved in one of the most intense make out sessions to which he had ever been privy… and *that* was saying something. By the time Booth's rational mind registered the fact that not only was he painfully aroused, but that Brennan had reached for the top button on his trousers and had almost gotten it free, he was almost beyond the point of caring. As he looked at her, Booth saw Brennan's lips were swollen from his kisses, and in the morning, she would have at least one substantial hickey from where he had spent several minutes marking her neck. While he still wore his shirt, it was completely unbuttoned and hung open for as Brennan had demanded and received better access to his torso… and explore it she had... enthusiatically. In return, at some point, Brennan's t-shirt had disappeared, although she was still wearing her bra and yoga pants. Knowing that if he didn't stop things now that he wouldn't be able to, Booth reluctantly pulled back from Brennan and smiled at her.

"Wait, Bren," Booth said softly.

"What?" Brennan said. Eyes bright and focused on him, Brennan's head tilted to the side slightly as she looked at him in curiosity. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Booth said, smiling. "Nothing, I promise. But… as much as it kills me to say this, we need to stop."

"Why?" Brennan said. "I was very much enjoying what we were doing, Booth, and I think I would enjoy it even more if we continued."

Laughing, Booth said, "That makes two of us."

"Well, then, why do we need to stop?" Brennan said. A bit of shyness coming into her voice, Brennan said, "I want you, Booth. I thought we'd already established that fact. Don't you want me?"

"More than you'll ever possibly know," Booth said. "But-"

"But?" Brennan said, a bit of self-doubt creeping into her voice again. "You don't want to have sexual intercourse with me."

"Yes," Booth said, shaking his head. A bit of hurt came into Brennan's eyes at his words. Shaking his head in exasperation, Booth grinned at her. "I mean, no. Geez, Bren... will you please stop doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Stop putting words in my mouth and confusing things," Booth said, slightly exasperated. "I never said that."

"Then, you do wish to engage in sexual intercourse with me?"

"Well, I'd like to think there's a better way to describe it," Booth said with a small smile. "But, yeah, of course. I've wanted you like that from the very first minute I ever saw you."

"Then, why do we need to stop?" Brennan said. "What we were doing felt very… pleasing to me. *I* don't want to stop. It felt good. Very good."

"I know," Booth said. "And, I'm sure that pleasure will only increase, but I don't want the first time we make love to be after an impromptu make out session on your couch like we're a couple of horny teenagers, Bren."

Biting her lip, Brennan said, "What does it matter?"

"It's hard for me to explain," Booth said. "But, it matters to me. I want *this*… I want *you*… but, I want to do it the right way."

"And, what is the 'right' way, then?" Brennan pouted.

Smiling, Booth said, "How about I make you a promise to demonstrate that for you? Will that help take some of the sting away?"

"Maybe," Brennan replied tentatively. "But, I'm not sure if I'm very happy with you right now, Booth. It's very cruel to arouse someone sexually and then frustrate them without offering any hope release."

Smirking, Booth said, "Oh, believe me, Bren. This is way worse for me than it is for you, I can guaran-damn-tee it."

"Then take the metaphorical sting away," Brennan replied glumly. "What's your offer?"

"Here," Booth said. "You, me, here… all night… in your bed with nothing to do but make each other feel good and enjoy some very... pleasurable activities. How's that for an offer?"

"When?" Brennan replied.

"Tomorrow?"

Considering his words, Brennan finally said, "You promise?"

"Yup." Grinning at her again, Booth nodded as he came up to kiss her once more. "Word of honor, Bren. Word of honor."

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	20. Ch 20: Booth, Brennan, & a Bed: Trated

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

A/N: I have posted two versions of this chapter, one T-rated and the other M-rated. However, I have not changed the overall rating of the story. If the M-rated chapter version isn't to your liking, stick with this one. You'll get all the important info that you need and not really miss anything… but for a few more… detailed explanations of you know what. However, I did feel the situation, for those who are inclined, did deserve something a bit more descriptive, so yeah. Either version is there depending on your preference. Also, since some of you asked, I do know how long the story is going to be. It's a total of 25 chapters plus an epilogue for a total of 26 entries all together. I'd say word count is going to definitely be well over 100,000 words, but as to how much, I'm not quite sure. It's difficult to say at this point since I'm still editing. How's that for me upholding my status of being such a big tease? Enjoy. ;)~

* * *

><p>Chapter 20 – Booth, Brennan, and a Bed (T-rated version)<p>

* * *

><p>The hum of the Royal Diner buzzed around the pair. It was fairly early for them to be sitting in the diner, ordering dessert and coffee, when they brought the average age of the patrons currently gathered in the restaurant to eat dinner down to about sixty-five. However, when Booth had showed up at Brennan's apartment to pick her up, after an earlier, but brief, phone call had ensured she was 'dressed decently enough to go out to grab a bite to eat', he had smiled the grin that could get her to do pretty much anything he wanted her to do. So, instead of pouncing on Booth as soon as he showed up at her front door, Brennan had returned his grin with a warm smile of her own, grabbed her coat and keys, and followed him out the door. Now, safely enscounced at what appeared to be Booth's favorite table in the diner, sitting across from him, Brennan was rethinking if her agreement to this plan had been such a good one. It had been one thing to agree to dinner, during which at least the act of consuming her food and beverage had helped to distract her, but a separate stop to have coffee and dessert, too? No, it wasn't necessarily one of the better plans to which Brennan had found herself agreeing at Booth's insistance.<p>

Since Booth had left the night before, Brennan had been amped up on adrenaline and the anticipation of the evening's activities. To say that she was, metaphorically, pulled taunt like a straight line between two points of extreme distance - or merely strung out - was describing her current outlook quite mildly. The tension of her mood had only increased now that she was in Booth's presence once again. Since Brennan could now actually see him, no longer merely having to imagine how his eyes would look at her in lustful anticipation, as they had begun to do so the previous evening, she continued to drive herself crazy. She itched to begin removing each piece of clothing that she saw him now wearing, and the fact that she *knew* she would be allowed to do the very thing she wanted so very badly in such short order... well, it just inflamed her even more. Brennan was a walking, talking, corporeal mass of raw sexuality ready to pop. The longer that she was in Booth's presence, able to actually see, hear, and smell him, the worse it became for her. Distracted and nervous, Brennan did her best to tamp down on her frustration, but couldn't help but wonder *why* Booth wasn't showing the least sign of anxious anticipation like she was. Okay, it made sense to her why she might be the one of the pair whose mood would be more affected, but Booth looked as calm and collected as she had ever seen him, and it drove Brennan just a little more crazy than she already had been.

Unable to stand it anymore, Brennan looked up at him, and in a slightly pleading tone, asked, "Okay, remind me why we're here again?"

Booth, recognizing Brennan's impatience, savored the opportunity to tease her just a bit more. He'd been enjoying seeing to what a frenzied extent she managed to work herself up into within such a short span of time. Truth to be told, he'd hadn't slept much last night once he'd reluctantly left her apartment. Booth had been too keyed up as he thought about his promise to her... and everything that it entailed, from the worrying about the practical logistics - to contemplating the act's greater significance in the context of their relationship - to the more pleasant ruminations of anticipating the pleasure such an experience would bring him. However, perhaps because he was busy thinking about the promise in more than one context, Booth didn't seem to have quite the same tunnel vision that appeared to have driven Brennan up the wall in the fifteen or so hours since he had last seen her.

Booth smiled at her, a sly smile, before he answered her question. "Because, Bren," Booth eventually responded. Reaching for his cup of coffee, Booth slowly took a sip before he returned the mug to the table and continued, "It's still early yet, and now that we've had dinner, I thought it might be a good idea to get some coffee and dessert before we adjourn back to your place for… other things."

Brennan's eyes narrowed in suspicion, still confused as to how he could be *so* calm and mildly surprised at the first verbal mention Booth had made all night of his promise to her the prior evening. Unable to help herself, Brennan asked the question whose answer seemed to be the only possible reason she could come up with in explanation of Booth's behavior when compared to her own. "So, that's it? You just wanted caffeine and sugar?"

"Yup," Booth said with a grin. "It wouldn't be as good of a night as it's going to bem unless I had a piece of pie, Bren."

"So... you aren't getting nervous and are using this detour as a way to forestall having to fulfill your promise to me, now, are you, Booth?"

Chuckling, Booth found finding Brennan's ability to go from so sexually confident in knowing what was going to happen between them tonight, to letting her insecurity reduce her to a state of nervousness that was *so* uncharacteristically *not* Brennan in about ten seconds, quite adorable. Leaning across the table so that his nose was only an inch or two away from Brennan's, Booth moved his foot under the table to nudge its way between where she had crossed her own at the ankles. Brennan's eyes flew open wide in surprise, and her breathing grew shallow at Booth's actions. Grinning still, Booth said, "Tell me, Bren. When you look into my eyes, do you see a guy who's nervous and looks like he wants to avoid *anything* right now?"

Staring at his eyes for a minute, Brennan forced herself to take several deep breaths, not certain her brain stem would kick in and automatically order her lungs to breathe if she didn't consciously focus on the effort given her current situation. At last, Brennan finally responded in an unusually calm tone that completely stood at odds with the turmoil of her current mental, emotional, and physical states. "Probably not. I see that your pupils are dilated, your irises have darkened, and your gaze is focused very intently on my face. Although I'm not very skilled by any means in reading a person's body language, from an anthropological standpoint, your reactions are all typical signs that research has shown as an indication of a male who's sexually aroused and anticipating the opportunity to act on that arousal."

"Bingo, Bren," Booth said. "So, in all that squint analysis of yours, did you see any nervousness or hesitation or uncertainty mixed in there at all... anywhere?"

"No," Brennan said, her gaze not breaking with Booth's. "None whatsoever."

Booth laughed as their waitress finally returned with their desserts, setting a slice of cherry pie in front of Booth and a large frosting-covered cinnamon roll in front of Brennan.

Looking up at the waitress, Booth's intensity shifted to a much more casual and upbeat manner as he smiled widely and said, "Wow. I still can't believe it. You guys actually have cherry pie now even though it's October?"

"You're lucky, doll," the waitress responded with a friendly nod. "Margie's the one who does our baking, and she did an experiment a couple of months ago trying to freeze some of the extra fresh fruit we got from one of the local farmer's markets in the summer. Her freezing the berries worked beautifully, so, yup, you get cherry pie when most other places are stuffing pumpkin and pecan confections down their customer's throats."

Grabbing his fork, Booth greedily stabbed the slice of pie with a determined look. Quickly lifting a piece to his mouth, another huge grin broke out on his already smiling face as he began to chew. Even though his mouth was full, Booth moaned in appreciation. "Well, tell Margie that she's got at least one huge fan of her summer-pies-in-fall idea, huh? If there's one thing I know, am an expert on, really, it's pie. And, this is GREAT."

"Will do, doll," the waitress said with a wink, gave a slight nod of her head to Brennan in acknowledgement, and then turned to leave the couple alone.

"Your reaction to that dessert is a bit confusing and slightly concerning to me, Booth," Brennan observed wryly.

Booth continued to devour the cherry pie with obvious relish. Talking through large mouthfuls, Booth responded, "And, why's that Bren?"

"Because, you're looking at that piece of cherry pie in the same exact manner as you were just looking at *me* about two minutes ago," Brennan said. "I'm not sure how I should feel about being replaced so easily in your affections with a *confection*."

Laughing, Booth nodded at the pie. "First, this is very, very *special* pie, Bren, so you shouldn't take it too personally. Second, in case you don't know this by now, I'm very adroit at multitasking, so I'm more than capable of handling both you and the pie at the same time. And, third, well... desserts can be very sensual, ya know?"

"I do know that the cherry is a metaphor for a woman's virginity," Brennan tossed out casually. "So, given the obvious gusto with which you're attacking that dessert, several extrapolations could be made as to how you actually enjoy the sexual act." Lowering her voice, Brennan said slyly, "Of course, when we're in a more private environment, I'd be happy to share them with you."

At her words, Booth choked a bit and had to reach for the half-empty glass of water that stood next to his coffee mug. At last, Booth said, "I can't tell if you were legitimately trying to bait me with that one or were just making squint-like conversation."

"Why can't it be both?" Brennan asked nonchalantly.

"Touché," Booth said with a brief nod.

"I'm glad you agree," Brennan said happily, reaching down to tear a piece of the cinnamon roll a part. Popping a bit in her mouth, she nodded in appreciation. "This *is* good."

"Why do you say that like it's some kind of surprise?" Booth said. "I told ya, Bren, there are a very limited number of things at which I am inherently talented… but, fortunately for any sugar monkey that you might ever have on your shoulder, knowing the location of all the best dessert places in town is one of them."

"Well, I do think it's ironic that I think I've walked by this place at least a hundred times in the six months since I've worked at the Jeffersonian and never stopped by before tonight," Brennan mused. "Granted, the location is convenient, but I never thought it would serve food that held any more redeeming qualities beyond its cability to be categorized by its ability to clog one's arteries with cholesterol in a rapid amount of time."

"Well," Booth said. "Looks can be deceiving." Booth took another bit of the pie, and again unintentionally moaned in appreciation. Brennan watched him in amusement. Booth saw her watching him, and, at last feeling fairly sated as far as the cherry pie was concerned, he lifted his fork in her direction. "Try some?"

"No, thank you," Brennan said. "You appear to be enjoying that far *too* much for me to attempt to deprive you of any of the pleasure you're sure to receive as you consume the few remaining bites."

"It's okay," Booth said. "Really, it is since I offered."

"Ehhh, I don't know, Booth-"

"Come on, Bren. This is too good not to share," Booth said.

Brennan scrunched her face in disdain as she said, "Okay, then, how about this? I don't really like my fruit cooked. So, maybe you could just go ahead and enjoy it for both of us, okay?"

"Nope," Booth insisted. "My ma always told me when I was growing up, you have to try everything at least once before you can say you don't like it. So, try one bite, and if you don't like it, I won't bring it up ever again."

"Just one bite?" Brennan asked, a bit of disbelief that Booth would give up so easily creeping into her voice.

Nodding, Booth said, "Yeah, just one teeny tiny taste, Bren." Moving the fork in a wide circle, Booth grinned as he said, "Open up. Here it comes."

Sighing at him, Brennan reluctantly opened her mouth. Booth popped the fork into it, and as he was about to withdraw, the tip of Brennan's tongue darted out and caught the edge of his finger tip. She immediately closed her mouth, tongue disappearing, and began to chew the bit of pie Booth had put in her mouth. However, Booth, still holding the fork in midair, swallowed once and then said, "You're evil. Pure evil."

"Maybe," Brennan said, swallowing the piece of pie that she had chewed. "If you'd hurry up and finish your damn pie, which is still cooked fruit that I still really don't prefer, we could get on with the part about finding out for certain exactly how evil I can really be when I set my mind to it, one way or another." Arching an eyebrow at him, Brennan watched Booth swallow again.

Turning around, Booth raised a hand to the waitress as he called out rather loudly, "Check, please!"

* * *

><p>Less than sixty minutes later, Booth had made Brennan make good on her implicit offer about seeing how evil she really was or wasn't. Her head was spinning and threatening to overwhelm her as a barrage of physical sensations rocked her psyche. Reluctantly, Brennan knew she needed to stop, just for a minute... just for a bit, just to catch her breath and, hopefully, to make the world stop spinning.<p>

"Wait, wait, wait," Brennan said, breathlessly, placing her hand palm-down on the warm skin of Booth's chest, just over his heart. She bit her lip, swallowing back a smile, as she struggled to breathe. Flushed and tingling with warmth all over, it had taken Brennan quite a lot of willpower to stop what they were doing. However, given Booth's own eagerness for the activities in which they had been engaging only a few seconds before, she knew it probably was even harder for him to stop once she called out to him. But, Brennan's words eventually had their desired effect, and Booth pulled away.

"What?" he said, a look of concern shadowing his face, eerily mirroring her own words from the previous evening. "What's wrong?"

Quickly shaking her head to reassure him, Brennan hadn't removed her hand from his chest as she said, "No, that's not it. Not at all. Nothing's wrong."

"Then, why are we stopping?" Booth grinned at her lazily, scooting a bit closer to her.

"I, ah, I just need a second, Booth," Brennan said. "This is, uhhh, it's going much faster than I thought it would."

Booth wasn't sure whether he should be offended at Brennan's words or not. He didn't know if she realized what she could possibly be insinuating with her statement, and decided that, more likely, in the absence of a steady flow of oxygen to her brain, Brennan had just misspoken. On that assumption, he asked, "You're okay?"

"Yes, I—"

"What?" Booth said, sensing a tiny bit of hesitation in her voice for the first time. Now *that* worried him.

"What, Bren?" he said, taking his hand and covering the one she still had pressed against his chest with his own hand. "What is it?"

Her head snapping up a bit, Brennan eyes blazed a bright, bright blue as she said, "It's going to be difficult for me to put what I'm thinking into words right now, Booth, given the fact that a tremendous amount of blood flow is going away from the direction of my brain."

"Try," he urged her.

"Okay," Brennan said. "I, ah… I know logically and rationally what we're doing here. But, I find that I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed at the current moment. What we're doing… what we've been doing… it's not… as I anticipated it to be. I-I… ah, I seem to have a problem when you're kissing me and touching me like you were that I'm unable to process any rational thoughts. I can't think—"

"Stop," Booth said, fighting back a sigh of relief, now that she knew what she was trying to tell him. "Stop right there, Bren."

"What?"

"I know what your problem is already," Booth said, taking his hand away from hers and bringing it to rest on her lap. He then reached up and lovingly tucked a random piece of hair from where it hung askew in front of her face to rest behind Brennan's ear.

"And, what's that?"

"You're thinking *way* too much about this," Booth said. "Stop trying to do your squint thing and just… go with it."

"Go with what?" Brennan asked. "I'm merely trying comprehensively to assess and to analyze—"

"Nope," Booth interrupted her. "That's not going to work if we keep doing what we were just doing."

"Why not? It always has before."

"Then, you weren't doing it the right way, Bren."

"Explain."

"Well," Booth said. "The simple answer is that you can't over-think this thing. It's an experience… a very *physical* experience that just has to be *felt*, Bren. If you try and overanalyze it while it's actually going on, well… the human brain wasn't made to work like that. Even as brilliant a mind as yours, it's just going to short circuit and go 'kerpluey'."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means, you need to stop trying to control things, Bren. We need to have less talk, less analysis, and more doing, more feeling," Booth said, leaning in to kiss her again. "Understand?"

After Booth had quickly paid for their check at the diner, they had taken a cab back to Brennan's apartment. Within about thirty seconds of having entered the apartment, shutting and locking the door behind them, Brennan had pounced on Booth. This time, however, he had been expecting her actions, and was prepared himself to respond in kind. Guiding them in the vague direction of where he knew her bedroom was, he tried to moderate the speed at which she seemed to be throwing herself into things. Booth didn't want to have their first time be a hurried, frenzied, fast, and utterly forgettable experience of merely satisfying hormones and lustful desires. So, he had gently guided her to the foot of her bed and sat them down. Clamping down on his own lust, Booth forced them to slow down, and they had spent almost the first forty-five minutes merely kissing and lightly touching each other. At some point, Brennan's shirt had once again disappeared, and Booth found that while he was still wearing his shirt, the button-down had been completely opened so that it merely hung loosely on his chest. Booth had just made a movement to tug at the uppermost button of Brennan's jeans when she had pulled away.

The pair still sat on the edge of the bed, and Booth sat facing Brennan. She hadn't verbally responded to his points, but with a small smile, which Booth took as her permission that she was ready to resume their activities, Booth leaned in to kiss her once more. He felt her begin to respond once again, and his hands had just gone to her back in a movement to unclasp her bra, when he felt her tense and pull away again, even though she remained quiet this time and didn't ask him to stop.

Despite the fact that Brennan hadn't said anything to halt his process, knowing better, Booth stopped what he was doing and pulled back slightly.

"What's wrong, Bren?" Booth said, a softness coming into his voice as he reached out and caressed her cheek. Brennan's head tilted in his direction at the movement, giving Booth a bit of hope when she hadn't pulled away at his touch. So, it wasn't him that was making her nervous, but *something* was... now, he just needed to find out what it was.

"Nothing—" Brennan replied at last.

"You're lying," Booth said quietly.

"No, I'm not," Brennan retorted.

"Yes, you are, Bren," Booth insisted. "I know."

"Really?" Brennan replied. "And, how do you know that again?"

"Because," Booth said. "I could feel you tense when I went to unclasp your bra."

"Oh," Brennan said, somewhat dejectedly, realizing the empirical logic to Booth's deduction. "Right."

"We don't have to do this right now," Booth said softly, wanting to prompt Brennan to talk. "Not if you don't want to for some reason. It's okay."

"I know that—"

"Don't think that I'll be disappointed or sad or upset with you if we don't, Bren. It's not a big deal. We can wait until you're ready, and I'm more than okay if tonight you're not ready," Booth said honestly. "It's cool, really."

"No," Brennan said, a bit of passion coming into her response. Her tone surprised Booth. There was no nervousness or hesitation present in *that* declaration... nor the one that followed. "I want to do this. More than you'll ever know, but—"

"But, what?"

"But… there's something I need to tell you first," Brennan finally said. She was blushing as bright a red as Booth had ever seen her, from her nose to the tips of her ears and down the column of her neck.

He watched her, his curiosity growing with each word she struggled to find. Attempting to reassure her, Booth said, "Go ahead, Bren. You know you can tell me anything."

"I know that," Brennan said instantly. "And, it's not that I'm afraid of telling you what I need to tell you, but there's a small part of me that fears that you may not wish to continue in our current activities once I confess to you what's a rather minor detail in the grand scheme of things. And, I'm quite fearful that once I tell you, I won't be able to have what I really, *really* want to have, Booth."

Raising the back of his hand to her cheek, Booth gently brushed it again and said, "So, tell me."

"Okay," Brennan said, biting the bottom of her lip. "I… ah… you know that I'm twenty-two, and this piece of information may seem like a bit of an illogical and a surprising detail given the fact that I am as old as I am, that I'm a heterosexual female whose been told she's quite attractive physically, and still, I, ah… technically... technically, I guess it's only fair for me to tell you that Istillhaven'teverhadsexbeforewithanyone."

The words came out in a rush, almost an incoherent jumble. Biting her lip harder, Brennan quickly looked away in embarrassment, flushing an even brighter red once she had spoken the words. Booth, still not completely certain what she had said, didn't really want to, but knew he needed to ask for clarification.

"I didn't catch that last part there, Bren," he said softly, willing her to look at him.

Her head snapping up, Brennan's eyes blazed as she looked at Booth, and, almost as if she were spitting a curse at him, Brennan replied quite clearly, "I said… technically… I… I've never engaged in sexual intercourse with a partner before now."

His brow furrowing in confusion, Booth had to admit her confession caught him off guard. He tilted his head at her, and said, "But, I thought you told me that you had a serious boyfriend in Chicago."

"I did," Brennan said, a bit of the annoyance seeping out of her, being replaced with the nervous insecurity of earlier. "But… we never… went *that* far. I wasn't ready to… he would have liked to… and on more than one occasion, he pushed me to… tried to push me anyway, but I wasn't ready… and so, we didn't. We never did." She stopped and said, "I just thought you should know what you were getting into before we went any further."

"Oh," Booth replied, trying to keep a look of pleasure from flooding his face.

"It's not a big deal," Brennan said, immediately, looking away. "Virginity is an antiquated state that cultures stipulate has some inherent value in order to condition women to behave in a certain way that supports a patriarchal social structure. And, I'm sure I would have gotten around to altering my own sexual status if I'd had more time, but in the process of completing my dissertation work, and then the rigors fo the move to DC, and the demands of beginning my job at the Jeffersonian haven't left me with very much free time during which I might pursue such leisure activities—"

"Bren?" he said quietly, a growing smile still framing his face.

"Yes, Booth?" Brennan responded, still not looking at him. Booth frowned at that. Her insecurity was so debilitating to her in some ways... and so unwarranted. It was all Booth could do to stop himself from claiming her right then and there.

"Will you look at me, please?"

"No," Brennan said, a bit miserable. "I-I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because," she said. "If I look at you, and I see anything even remotely resembling pity or embarrassment, I'm not going to handle it very well."

"Why would I pity you or be embarrassed?"

"Because," Brennan said. "I've known for a while that once you knew this rather unimportant fact about me that this would probably mean you don't want me anymore—"

"What?" Booth's voice cracked the air, and Brennan couldn't help herself as she looked at him in surprise. "How could you ever think that I wouldn't want you, Bren?"

"I... I don't know. The vehemence of your response seems to indicate that I may have been wrong in that assumption," Brennan replied, the confusion clear in her voice. "But—"

"No, 'buts', Bren," Booth said, leaning forward to pull her to him. Hugging her tightly, he raised his lips to her ear and whispered, "I've wanted you from the very first moment I saw you, and you're just going to have to trust me, but I've gone through a lot between that moment and this one, and *never*, not once, have I ever stopped wanting you. I've only wanted you *more* as time's passed. I just… I don't pity you, and I'm not embarrassed… whatever your reasons were for waiting until now, they're yours, you don't need to explain them to me. I just… it's a big deal, you know? I just want to make certain, even more so now than before, because... that you know that this is what *you* really want."

"I want it," Brennan breathed. "I want it, and I want you. Desperately."

"You're certain about that?" Booth asked again. "I need you to be 100% absolutely, positively certain, Bren. Because, once we start forward on this, I'm pretty sure I won't be able to stop."

Pulling her head back, Brennan shook it. "I don't want you to stop. I don't have any doubts about my decision, Booth. I want to do this… share this… now, here, with you… if you want me, that is."

"God, I want you," he breathed. "I want you so much, it hurts."

"Then take what you want," she said simply.

And, just like that, Booth did.

* * *

><p>Sometime later, Booth lay in Brennan's bed on his back, loving the feel of her laying draped over his chest. Despite her inexperience, her enthusiasm for their mutual endeavors had impressed Booth. As she had once claimed to him, Brennan *did* have excellent stamina.<p>

He thought she had dozed off, but his error was corrected when Brennan said drowsily, "We should shower."

Tilting his head down at hers, Brennan eyes opened up lazily, "I'm sleepy, but we should shower first. The warm water, it'll help relax my muscles."

"Some ibuprofen might not be a bad idea either," Booth commented. "You can get up if you want to. You don't have to stay with me. I can clean up by myself."

Frowning, Brennan shook her head. "You want to leave?"

Confusion registering at his words, Booth countered, "I thought that was your way of telling me you wanted me to go so that you could be by yourself?"

"No," Brennan said. "I assumed you would stay."

"Stay for how long?"

"The night?" Brennan said. "It's Sunday tomorrow, and I don't have to be anyplace. Do you?"

"No," Booth replied hopefully.

"Then, stay," Brennan said happily. "Stay with me."

"Okay," he nodded and then bent his head to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. "If you're sure."

"I am," Brennan said. "But, I think I really would prefer it if both of us showered first. That's why I said 'we'."

Narrowing his eyes, Booth said, "'Shower' as in for the purposes of bathing or 'shower' as in for the purposes of fun with water?"

"Can't it be both?" Brennan responded slyly. "Now, that I've embarked on actually having a sex life, I don't intend to be abstinent. I plan to start making up for lost time immediately, Booth… that is… if you're still willing."

"Oh, I'm willing all right," Booth said. "Ready and willing. I just… I don't want to hurt you… or push you too hard."

"You aren't… you won't," Brennan said. "And, I'll let you know if you are or do."

Reaching down to trace a small circle on her bare shoulder blade, Booth said, "We, ahh… still need to take care of that thing."

"What thing?"

"Ummm… you know, since we didn't use the condom?" Booth stopped and paused as he said, "It was stupid of me not to check with you. I should've asked yesterday if you were allergic to anything."

"Nonoxynol-9 isn't a common allergy, Booth. As such, it's not a big deal—"

"Even still, I should've asked."

"Don't worry. I'll take care of it," Brennan said. "But, if we are going to engage in sexual intercourse within the next few minutes again ,as I fervently anticipate, it would be redundant to do something now and then just have to do it again in another half hour."

"But, you won't forget, right?" Booth asked.

"No, I won't forget," Brennan said with a warm smile. "Now, are you coming or not?"

Gingerly pushing herself off of him, she let the bedroom sheet fall away, and she rolled off the bed as lithely as a cat. Arching her back in a stretching motion, Brennan yawned once and then smiled at him, extending a hand in a 'come-hither' gesture… and, at that point, Booth knew… who was he to deny Temperance Brennan anything?

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	21. Ch 20: Booth, Brennan, & a Bed: Mrated

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

A/N: I have posted two versions of this chapter, one T-rated and the other M-rated. However, I have not changed the overall rating of the story. If you're reading this version of the chapter, be warned... you have found the very appropriately M-rated version of this chapter. It is rated that way for a reason. If the implications that this version's rating comes with aren't to your liking, turn back and go to the T-rated version. You'll still get all the important info that you need and not really miss anything, I promise. However, I did feel the situation that is the focus of this chapter, for those who are inclined, did deserve something a bit more involved, so yeah. It's here… and it's… *very* detailed. As most people know, I tend to write more sensual love scenes than explicit, and I still think this is of the good ole bodice-ripping dime store romance novels variety more than anything else. If that's not your cup of tea, or if you are not of a legal age to read such descriptive things, then move along here, there's nothing to see. You *have* been warned. For those to whom this chapter is appropriately intended as my target audience, I will say that this series of scenes is probably the longest and most intense bit of steamy stuff that I've ever written. Also, as just an FYI... this chapter was actually written before dharmamonkey and I mutually corrupted one another with the "Costly Signals" epic smutfest. It seems as if, recently, I do seem to be writing more sex in chapters than plot, but sometimes that's just how the evil fan fic muse/plot bunny bounces I guess. So, I don't know how *this* turned out, but I did try my best. Hopefully, to paraphrase the immortal words of Garth Algar, I just hope, at least, you don't think it sucks. I was a bit nervous about posting it, but here we are. Please, please do let me know what you think (unless it's horrible, then don't tell me, because I'm not sure I can take it ;) )… Also, since some of you asked, I do know how long the story is going to be. It's a total of 25 chapters plus an epilogue for a total of 26 entries all together. The word count is going to definitely be well over 100,000 words, but as to how much, I'm not quite sure yet. It's difficult to say at this point since I'm still editing. How's that for me upholding my status of being such a big evil tease? Enjoy. :)~

* * *

><p>Chapter 20 – Booth, Brennan, and a Bed (M-rated version)<p>

* * *

><p>The hum of the Royal Diner buzzed around the pair. It was fairly early for them to be sitting in the diner, ordering dessert and coffee, when they brought the average age of the patrons currently gathered in the restaurant to eat dinner down to about sixty-five. However, when Booth had showed up at Brennan's apartment to pick her up, after an earlier, but brief, phone call had ensured she was 'dressed decently enough to go out to grab a bite to eat', he had smiled the grin that could get her to do pretty much anything he wanted her to do. So, instead of pouncing on Booth as soon as he showed up at her front door, Brennan had returned his grin with a warm smile of her own, grabbed her coat and keys, and followed him out the door. Now, safely enscounced at what appeared to be Booth's favorite table in the diner, sitting across from him, Brennan was rethinking if her agreement to this plan had been such a good one. It had been one thing to agree to dinner, during which at least the act of consuming her food and beverage had helped to distract her, but a separate stop to have coffee and dessert, too? No, it wasn't necessarily one of the better plans to which Brennan had found herself agreeing at Booth's insistance.<p>

Since Booth had left the night before, Brennan had been amped up on adrenaline and the anticipation of the evening's activities. To say that she was, metaphorically, pulled taunt like a straight line between two points of extreme distance - or merely strung out - was describing her current outlook quite mildly. The tension of her mood had only increased now that she was in Booth's presence once again. Since Brennan could now actually see him, no longer merely having to imagine how his eyes would look at her in lustful anticipation, as they had begun to do so the previous evening, she continued to drive herself crazy. She itched to begin removing each piece of clothing that she saw him now wearing, and the fact that she *knew* she would be allowed to do the very thing she wanted so very badly in such short order... well, it just inflamed her even more. Brennan was a walking, talking, corporeal mass of raw sexuality ready to pop. The longer that she was in Booth's presence, able to actually see, hear, and smell him, the worse it became for her. Distracted and nervous, Brennan did her best to tamp down on her frustration, but couldn't help but wonder *why* Booth wasn't showing the least sign of anxious anticipation like she was. Okay, it made sense to her why she might be the one of the pair whose mood would be more affected, but Booth looked as calm and collected as she had ever seen him, and it drove Brennan just a little more crazy than she already had been.

Unable to stand it anymore, Brennan looked up at him, and in a slightly pleading tone, asked, "Okay, remind me why we're here again?"

Booth, recognizing Brennan's impatience, savored the opportunity to tease her just a bit more. He'd been enjoying seeing to what a frenzied extent she managed to work herself up into within such a short span of time. Truth to be told, he'd hadn't slept much last night once he'd reluctantly left her apartment. Booth had been too keyed up as he thought about his promise to her... and everything that it entailed, from the worrying about the practical logistics - to contemplating the act's greater significance in the context of their relationship - to the more pleasant ruminations of anticipating the pleasure such an experience would bring him. However, perhaps because he was busy thinking about the promise in more than one context, Booth didn't seem to have quite the same tunnel vision that appeared to have driven Brennan up the wall in the fifteen or so hours since he had last seen her.

Booth smiled at her, a sly smile, before he answered her question. "Because, Bren," Booth eventually responded. Reaching for his cup of coffee, Booth slowly took a sip before he returned the mug to the table and continued, "It's still early yet, and now that we've had dinner, I thought it might be a good idea to get some coffee and dessert before we adjourn back to your place for… other things."

Brennan's eyes narrowed in suspicion, still confused as to how he could be *so* calm and mildly surprised at the first verbal mention Booth had made all night of his promise to her the prior evening. Unable to help herself, Brennan asked the question whose answer seemed to be the only possible reason she could come up with in explanation of Booth's behavior when compared to her own. "So, that's it? You just wanted caffeine and sugar?"

"Yup," Booth said with a grin. "It wouldn't be as good of a night as it's going to bem unless I had a piece of pie, Bren."

"So... you aren't getting nervous and are using this detour as a way to forestall having to fulfill your promise to me, now, are you, Booth?"

Chuckling, Booth found finding Brennan's ability to go from so sexually confident in knowing what was going to happen between them tonight, to letting her insecurity reduce her to a state of nervousness that was *so* uncharacteristically *not* Brennan in about ten seconds, quite adorable. Leaning across the table so that his nose was only an inch or two away from Brennan's, Booth moved his foot under the table to nudge its way between where she had crossed her own at the ankles. Brennan's eyes flew open wide in surprise, and her breathing grew shallow at Booth's actions. Grinning still, Booth said, "Tell me, Bren. When you look into my eyes, do you see a guy who's nervous and looks like he wants to avoid *anything* right now?"

Staring at his eyes for a minute, Brennan forced herself to take several deep breaths, not certain her brain stem would kick in and automatically order her lungs to breathe if she didn't consciously focus on the effort given her current situation. At last, Brennan finally responded in an unusually calm tone that completely stood at odds with the turmoil of her current mental, emotional, and physical states. "Probably not. I see that your pupils are dilated, your irises have darkened, and your gaze is focused very intently on my face. Although I'm not very skilled by any means in reading a person's body language, from an anthropological standpoint, your reactions are all typical signs that research has shown as an indication of a male who's sexually aroused and anticipating the opportunity to act on that arousal."

"Bingo, Bren," Booth said. "So, in all that squint analysis of yours, did you see any nervousness or hesitation or uncertainty mixed in there at all... anywhere?"

"No," Brennan said, her gaze not breaking with Booth's. "None whatsoever."

Booth laughed as their waitress finally returned with their desserts, setting a slice of cherry pie in front of Booth and a large frosting-covered cinnamon roll in front of Brennan.

Looking up at the waitress, Booth's intensity shifted to a much more casual and upbeat manner as he smiled widely and said, "Wow. I still can't believe it. You guys actually have cherry pie now even though it's October?"

"You're lucky, doll," the waitress responded with a friendly nod. "Margie's the one who does our baking, and she did an experiment a couple of months ago trying to freeze some of the extra fresh fruit we got from one of the local farmer's markets in the summer. Her freezing the berries worked beautifully, so, yup, you get cherry pie when most other places are stuffing pumpkin and pecan confections down their customer's throats."

Grabbing his fork, Booth greedily stabbed the slice of pie with a determined look. Quickly lifting a piece to his mouth, another huge grin broke out on his already smiling face as he began to chew. Even though his mouth was full, Booth moaned in appreciation. "Well, tell Margie that she's got at least one huge fan of her summer-pies-in-fall idea, huh? If there's one thing I know, am an expert on, really, it's pie. And, this is GREAT."

"Will do, doll," the waitress said with a wink, gave a slight nod of her head to Brennan in acknowledgement, and then turned to leave the couple alone.

"Your reaction to that dessert is a bit confusing and slightly concerning to me, Booth," Brennan observed wryly.

Booth continued to devour the cherry pie with obvious relish. Talking through large mouthfuls, Booth responded, "And, why's that Bren?"

"Because, you're looking at that piece of cherry pie in the same exact manner as you were just looking at *me* about two minutes ago," Brennan said. "I'm not sure how I should feel about being replaced so easily in your affections with a *confection*."

Laughing, Booth nodded at the pie. "First, this is very, very *special* pie, Bren, so you shouldn't take it too personally. Second, in case you don't know this by now, I'm very adroit at multitasking, so I'm more than capable of handling both you and the pie at the same time. And, third, well... desserts can be very sensual, ya know?"

"I do know that the cherry is a metaphor for a woman's virginity," Brennan tossed out casually. "So, given the obvious gusto with which you're attacking that dessert, several extrapolations could be made as to how you actually enjoy the sexual act." Lowering her voice, Brennan said slyly, "Of course, when we're in a more private environment, I'd be happy to share them with you."

At her words, Booth choked a bit and had to reach for the half-empty glass of water that stood next to his coffee mug. At last, Booth said, "I can't tell if you were legitimately trying to bait me with that one or were just making squint-like conversation."

"Why can't it be both?" Brennan asked nonchalantly.

"Touché," Booth said with a brief nod.

"I'm glad you agree," Brennan said happily, reaching down to tear a piece of the cinnamon roll a part. Popping a bit in her mouth, she nodded in appreciation. "This *is* good."

"Why do you say that like it's some kind of surprise?" Booth said. "I told ya, Bren, there are a very limited number of things at which I am inherently talented… but, fortunately for any sugar monkey that you might ever have on your shoulder, knowing the location of all the best dessert places in town is one of them."

"Well, I do think it's ironic that I think I've walked by this place at least a hundred times in the six months since I've worked at the Jeffersonian and never stopped by before tonight," Brennan mused. "Granted, the location is convenient, but I never thought it would serve food that held any more redeeming qualities beyond its cability to be categorized by its ability to clog one's arteries with cholesterol in a rapid amount of time."

"Well," Booth said. "Looks can be deceiving." Booth took another bit of the pie, and again unintentionally moaned in appreciation. Brennan watched him in amusement. Booth saw her watching him, and, at last feeling fairly sated as far as the cherry pie was concerned, he lifted his fork in her direction. "Try some?"

"No, thank you," Brennan said. "You appear to be enjoying that far *too* much for me to attempt to deprive you of any of the pleasure you're sure to receive as you consume the few remaining bites."

"It's okay," Booth said. "Really, it is since I offered."

"Ehhh, I don't know, Booth-"

"Come on, Bren. This is too good not to share," Booth said.

Brennan scrunched her face in disdain as she said, "Okay, then, how about this? I don't really like my fruit cooked. So, maybe you could just go ahead and enjoy it for both of us, okay?"

"Nope," Booth insisted. "My ma always told me when I was growing up, you have to try everything at least once before you can say you don't like it. So, try one bite, and if you don't like it, I won't bring it up ever again."

"Just one bite?" Brennan asked, a bit of disbelief that Booth would give up so easily creeping into her voice.

Nodding, Booth said, "Yeah, just one teeny tiny taste, Bren." Moving the fork in a wide circle, Booth grinned as he said, "Open up. Here it comes."

Sighing at him, Brennan reluctantly opened her mouth. Booth popped the fork into it, and as he was about to withdraw, the tip of Brennan's tongue darted out and caught the edge of his finger tip. She immediately closed her mouth, tongue disappearing, and began to chew the bit of pie Booth had put in her mouth. However, Booth, still holding the fork in midair, swallowed once and then said, "You're evil. Pure evil."

"Maybe," Brennan said, swallowing the piece of pie that she had chewed. "If you'd hurry up and finish your damn pie, which is still cooked fruit that I still really don't prefer, we could get on with the part about finding out for certain exactly how evil I can really be when I set my mind to it, one way or another." Arching an eyebrow at him, Brennan watched Booth swallow again.

Turning around, Booth raised a hand to the waitress as he called out rather loudly, "Check, please!"

* * *

><p>Less than sixty minutes later, Booth had made Brennan make good on her implicit offer about seeing how evil she really was or wasn't. Her head was spinning and threatening to overwhelm her as a barrage of physical sensations rocked her psyche. Reluctantly, Brennan knew she needed to stop, just for a minute... just for a bit, just to catch her breath and, hopefully, to make the world stop spinning.<p>

"Wait, wait, wait," Brennan said, breathlessly, placing her hand palm-down on the warm skin of Booth's chest, just over his heart. She bit her lip, swallowing back a smile, as she struggled to breathe. Flushed and tingling with warmth all over, it had taken Brennan quite a lot of willpower to stop what they were doing. However, given Booth's own eagerness for the activities in which they had been engaging only a few seconds before, she knew it probably was even harder for him to stop once she called out to him. But, Brennan's words eventually had their desired effect, and Booth pulled away.

"What?" he said, a look of concern shadowing his face, eerily mirroring her own words from the previous evening. "What's wrong?"

Quickly shaking her head to reassure him, Brennan hadn't removed her hand from his chest as she said, "No, that's not it. Not at all. Nothing's wrong."

"Then, why are we stopping?" Booth grinned at her lazily, scooting a bit closer to her.

"I, ah, I just need a second, Booth," Brennan said. "This is, uhhh, it's going much faster than I thought it would."

Booth wasn't sure whether he should be offended at Brennan's words or not. He didn't know if she realized what she could possibly be insinuating with her statement, and decided that, more likely, in the absence of a steady flow of oxygen to her brain, Brennan had just misspoken. On that assumption, he asked, "You're okay?"

"Yes, I—"

"What?" Booth said, sensing a tiny bit of hesitation in her voice for the first time. Now *that* worried him.

"What, Bren?" he said, taking his hand and covering the one she still had pressed against his chest with his own hand. "What is it?"

Her head snapping up a bit, Brennan eyes blazed a bright, bright blue as she said, "It's going to be difficult for me to put what I'm thinking into words right now, Booth, given the fact that a tremendous amount of blood flow is going away from the direction of my brain."

"Try," he urged her.

"Okay," Brennan said. "I, ah… I know logically and rationally what we're doing here. But, I find that I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed at the current moment. What we're doing… what we've been doing… it's not… as I anticipated it to be. I-I… ah, I seem to have a problem when you're kissing me and touching me like you were that I'm unable to process any rational thoughts. I can't think—"

"Stop," Booth said, fighting back a sigh of relief, now that she knew what she was trying to tell him. "Stop right there, Bren."

"What?"

"I know what your problem is already," Booth said, taking his hand away from hers and bringing it to rest on her lap. He then reached up and lovingly tucked a random piece of hair from where it hung askew in front of her face to rest behind Brennan's ear.

"And, what's that?"

"You're thinking *way* too much about this," Booth said. "Stop trying to do your squint thing and just… go with it."

"Go with what?" Brennan asked. "I'm merely trying comprehensively to assess and to analyze—"

"Nope," Booth interrupted her. "That's not going to work if we keep doing what we were just doing."

"Why not? It always has before."

"Then, you weren't doing it the right way, Bren."

"Explain."

"Well," Booth said. "The simple answer is that you can't over-think this thing. It's an experience… a very *physical* experience that just has to be *felt*, Bren. If you try and overanalyze it while it's actually going on, well… the human brain wasn't made to work like that. Even as brilliant a mind as yours, it's just going to short circuit and go 'kerpluey'."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means, you need to stop trying to control things, Bren. We need to have less talk, less analysis, and more doing, more feeling," Booth said, leaning in to kiss her again. "Understand?"

After Booth had quickly paid for their check at the diner, they had taken a cab back to Brennan's apartment. Within about thirty seconds of having entered the apartment, shutting and locking the door behind them, Brennan had pounced on Booth. This time, however, he had been expecting her actions, and was prepared himself to respond in kind. Guiding them in the vague direction of where he knew her bedroom was, he tried to moderate the speed at which she seemed to be throwing herself into things. Booth didn't want to have their first time be a hurried, frenzied, fast, and utterly forgettable experience of merely satisfying hormones and lustful desires. So, he had gently guided her to the foot of her bed and sat them down. Clamping down on his own lust, Booth forced them to slow down, and they had spent almost the first forty-five minutes merely kissing and lightly touching each other. At some point, Brennan's shirt had once again disappeared, and Booth found that while he was still wearing his shirt, the button-down had been completely opened so that it merely hung loosely on his chest. Booth had just made a movement to tug at the uppermost button of Brennan's jeans when she had pulled away.

The pair still sat on the edge of the bed, and Booth sat facing Brennan. She hadn't verbally responded to his points, but with a small smile, which Booth took as her permission that she was ready to resume their activities, Booth leaned in to kiss her once more. He felt her begin to respond once again, and his hands had just gone to her back in a movement to unclasp her bra, when he felt her tense and pull away again, even though she remained quiet this time and didn't ask him to stop.

Despite the fact that Brennan hadn't said anything to halt his process, knowing better, Booth stopped what he was doing and pulled back slightly.

"What's wrong, Bren?" Booth said, a softness coming into his voice as he reached out and caressed her cheek. Brennan's head tilted in his direction at the movement, giving Booth a bit of hope when she hadn't pulled away at his touch. So, it wasn't him that was making her nervous, but *something* was... now, he just needed to find out what it was.

"Nothing—" Brennan replied at last.

"You're lying," Booth said quietly.

"No, I'm not," Brennan retorted.

"Yes, you are, Bren," Booth insisted. "I know."

"Really?" Brennan replied. "And, how do you know that again?"

"Because," Booth said. "I could feel you tense when I went to unclasp your bra."

"Oh," Brennan said, somewhat dejectedly, realizing the empirical logic to Booth's deduction. "Right."

"We don't have to do this right now," Booth said softly, wanting to prompt Brennan to talk. "Not if you don't want to for some reason. It's okay."

"I know that—"

"Don't think that I'll be disappointed or sad or upset with you if we don't, Bren. It's not a big deal. We can wait until you're ready, and I'm more than okay if tonight you're not ready," Booth said honestly. "It's cool, really."

"No," Brennan said, a bit of passion coming into her response. Her tone surprised Booth. There was no nervousness or hesitation present in *that* declaration... nor the one that followed. "I want to do this. More than you'll ever know, but—"

"But, what?"

"But… there's something I need to tell you first," Brennan finally said. She was blushing as bright a red as Booth had ever seen her, from her nose to the tips of her ears and down the column of her neck.

He watched her, his curiosity growing with each word she struggled to find. Attempting to reassure her, Booth said, "Go ahead, Bren. You know you can tell me anything."

"I know that," Brennan said instantly. "And, it's not that I'm afraid of telling you what I need to tell you, but there's a small part of me that fears that you may not wish to continue in our current activities once I confess to you what's a rather minor detail in the grand scheme of things. And, I'm quite fearful that once I tell you, I won't be able to have what I really, *really* want to have, Booth."

Raising the back of his hand to her cheek, Booth gently brushed it again and said, "So, tell me."

"Okay," Brennan said, biting the bottom of her lip. "I… ah… you know that I'm twenty-two, and this piece of information may seem like a bit of an illogical and a surprising detail given the fact that I am as old as I am, that I'm a heterosexual female whose been told she's quite attractive physically, and still, I, ah… technically... technically, I guess it's only fair for me to tell you that Istillhaven'teverhadsexbeforewithanyone."

The words came out in a rush, almost an incoherent jumble. Biting her lip harder, Brennan quickly looked away in embarrassment, flushing an even brighter red once she had spoken the words. Booth, still not completely certain what she had said, didn't really want to, but knew he needed to ask for clarification.

"I didn't catch that last part there, Bren," he said softly, willing her to look at him.

Her head snapping up, Brennan's eyes blazed as she looked at Booth, and, almost as if she were spitting a curse at him, Brennan replied quite clearly, "I said… technically… I… I've never engaged in sexual intercourse with a partner before now."

His brow furrowing in confusion, Booth had to admit her confession caught him off guard. He tilted his head at her, and said, "But, I thought you told me that you had a serious boyfriend in Chicago."

"I did," Brennan said, a bit of the annoyance seeping out of her, being replaced with the nervous insecurity of earlier. "But… we never… went *that* far. I wasn't ready to… he would have liked to… and on more than one occasion, he pushed me to… tried to push me anyway, but I wasn't ready… and so, we didn't. We never did." She stopped and said, "I just thought you should know what you were getting into before we went any further."

"Oh," Booth replied, trying to keep a look of pleasure from flooding his face.

"It's not a big deal," Brennan said, immediately, looking away. "Virginity is an antiquated state that cultures stipulate has some inherent value in order to condition women to behave in a certain way that supports a patriarchal social structure. And, I'm sure I would have gotten around to altering my own sexual status if I'd had more time, but in the process of completing my dissertation work, and then the rigors fo the move to DC, and the demands of beginning my job at the Jeffersonian haven't left me with very much free time during which I might pursue such leisure activities—"

"Bren?" he said quietly, a growing smile still framing his face.

"Yes, Booth?" Brennan responded, still not looking at him. Booth frowned at that. Her insecurity was so debilitating to her in some ways... and so unwarranted. It was all Booth could do to stop himself from claiming her right then and there.

"Will you look at me, please?"

"No," Brennan said, a bit miserable. "I-I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because," she said. "If I look at you, and I see anything even remotely resembling pity or embarrassment, I'm not going to handle it very well."

"Why would I pity you or be embarrassed?"

"Because," Brennan said. "I've known for a while that once you knew this rather unimportant fact about me that this would probably mean you don't want me anymore—"

"What?" Booth's voice cracked the air, and Brennan couldn't help herself as she looked at him in surprise. "How could you ever think that I wouldn't want you, Bren?"

"I... I don't know. The vehemence of your response seems to indicate that I may have been wrong in that assumption," Brennan replied, the confusion clear in her voice. "But—"

"No, 'buts', Bren," Booth said, leaning forward to pull her to him. Hugging her tightly, he raised his lips to her ear and whispered, "I've wanted you from the very first moment I saw you, and you're just going to have to trust me, but I've gone through a lot between that moment and this one, and *never*, not once, have I ever stopped wanting you. I've only wanted you *more* as time's passed. I just… I don't pity you, and I'm not embarrassed… whatever your reasons were for waiting until now, they're yours, you don't need to explain them to me. I just… it's a big deal, you know? I just want to make certain, even more so now than before, because... that you know that this is what *you* really want."

"I want it," Brennan breathed. "I want it, and I want you. Desperately."

"You're certain about that?" Booth asked again. "I need you to be 100% absolutely, positively certain, Bren. Because, once we start forward on this, I'm pretty sure I won't be able to stop."

Pulling her head back, Brennan shook it. "I don't want you to stop. I don't have any doubts about my decision, Booth. I want to do this… share this… now, here, with you… if you want me, that is."

"God, I want you," he breathed. "I want you so much, it hurts."

"Then take what you want," she said simply.

"I don't want to hurt you," Booth said, a raw honesty coming into his voice.

Brennan had moved from the bed and stood up so that several inches separated them during the course of their earlier discussion. Now, Booth stared at her, looking at her like she imagined a man dying of thirst would stare at an oasis that had long been in front of him, but that he never could reach, no matter how hard he struggled to attain his goal. Brennan took a step closer to where he had moved off of the bed. Her hand reached down, searching for his. Grasping it tightly, Brennan intertwined her fingers with Booth's, as her other hand came up, and she used the back of it to caress a straight line down his stomach. Booth swiftly inhaled, the response involuntarily. Brennan looked at him, concern clearly evident on her face, as if she had done something wrong. She seemed to be a bit hesitant, a bit unsure in her actions, and her demeanor only made Booth lust after her all the more.

"I want to touch you," she said innocently. "Can I touch you?"

"God, yes," he rasped.

Giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, Brennan dropped it immediately and firmly grabbed each edge of his shirt and pushed it off his chest. Booth felt the shirt drop to the ground near his feet and saw Brennan move towards him again. Her hands came up to his bare shoulders, her right hand to the top of his right shoulder, her left hand to the top of his left shoulder. Beginning at the base of his neck, she traced parallel lines all the way over his biceps and down his forearms, only letting the tips of her fingers skim the surface of his muscles.

Looking at him in the eye, she said softly, "Turn around."

Booth complied, and he felt a dizzying wave of energy course over him as she repeated her actions with the muscles of his back. She started at his trapezeus muscles, following a line over the curve of his shoulder, and moving down his deltoids to the lats. Brennan stopped just as she came into contact with the area of skin near where the lower back transitioned into the gluteus maximus. Biting his lip in annoyance when he felt her stop, Booth reached behind him and pulled her hands around his waist. Brennan allowed him to guide her hands encircle his waist and clasp together mid-torso right at the catch to the buckle of his belt. Even though she couldn't see what she was doing from where she stood behind him, Brennan was a fast learner and very adroit with her fingers.

She needed no additional guidance from Booth as she pulled with one hand and unclasped the buckle with the other. He closed his eyes in pleasure as he felt the friction of the belt being pulled through each loop of his jeans. Not too fast, and not too slow, Brennan kept a measured pace as she finished pulling the belt free of Booth's pants. Tossing it aside, her hands gently crept over the sides of his waist and back towards the center. Her left hand held the left side of his jeans firm while her right hand worked to get the two buttons free. Booth's eyes were still closed as she then carefully took the zipper and slowly moved it down. From her vantage point, Brennan still couldn't see what she was feeling… but, Booth almost felt his closed eyes roll back completely into his head as her fingers unintentionally brushed against his straining erection as she had unzipped the jeans.

Moving her hands back around his torso, tracing the lines of the loosened waistband of his jeans, Brennan hooked two of her thumbs on either side of his lower back and slowly peeled the offending article clear off of his waist and down to the ground.

"Step out of them," Brennan urged him.

Still with his back to her, Booth complied, glad that his shoes and socks had already disappeared in the course of their earlier efforts. Kicking the jeans to the side, Booth resumed his earlier position, clad only in a simple pair of black and white pinstriped boxers. Brennan's hands, eager to feel more now that she had glimpsed the taut firmness of his ass, resumed their previous position and began to drop lower. Brennan traced the curve of his lower back, moving so that she had to skim her hands under the waistband of the boxers and inside the fabric. Following the curve of his ass, Brennan felt her heart rate increase as she pressed her hands against the skin of his firm muscles, effectively cupping them in appreciation. Acting on instinct, she squeezed them almost as if she would a ripe melon and was rewarded when Booth wobbled a bit in his stance. Brennan chuckled, her merry laughter ringing out through the air. Temperance Brennan was not the type of woman who *ever* giggled. However, in this situation, if she ever had the ability to giggle, was the closest that she had ever come to such an occurrence, all because of Booth's response to her efforts. Withdrawing her hands from inside his boxers and stepping back for a moment to catch her own breath, after a few seconds, Brennan came back towards Booth. She encircled his waist with her arms once more, and pressed her body against his back as she leaned up and whispered, "I want to touch more of you, Booth."

"What are you waiting for?" he choked out in a hoarse voice. Grabbing a hand that was resting on one of his hips, Booth gave Brennan a quick tug so that she spun around to face him.

Brennan marveled at how his irises had darkened even further and continued to stare at her so intently. Dropping her hand, Booth inclined his head at her in a gesture of unspoken permission. He knew what she wanted, and Brennan was thankful she didn't have to ask because the look Booth had given her rendered it somewhat difficult for her actually to verbalize her thoughts. Coming to kneel in front of him, Brennan hooked her thumbs in the waistband of his boxer shorts once again, but this time, she did so with deliberate purpose. Sliding the garment down his legs, she had eyes for only one thing as his erection jumped free and stood at prompt attention for her.

Not bothering to wait for her to repeat her earlier words of encouragement, Booth immediately kicked the boxers away from where they stood. Brennan was silent for a couple of minutes and hadn't moved after Booth finally stood naked in front of her. At first, Booth worried that she might have become intimidated and that another bout of insecurity had stilled her efforts, and so he felt a need to seek clarification from her once more.

"Bren?"

"Yes, Booth?"

"I, ah… why are you just staring?"

Her eyes looking up to meet his, Brennan said, "I apologize… but… I'm not sure what to do first. Anatomically, of course, yours isn't the first set of male reproductive organs that I've ever seen up this close, but it *is* the first time I've ever been this close when the phallus has been in such an erect position."

"Bren?"

"Yes, Booth?"

"Maybe… ah, we could cut down on the number of big words we're using right now? I-I… ah, I can't think straight with you looking at me like that and expecting me to understand what you're saying at the same time when you're saying words that have so many syllables," Booth confessed in a ramble.

A small smile coming unto her lips, Brennan replied, "While my lack of practical experience does give me a limited frame of reference about these things, Booth, I do know from what I've read that the vocabulary one likes to employ in such intimate situations can vary from partner to partner. Do you have a preference?"

"A preference?" Booth repeated, not quite sure what she was asking him.

"Yes," Brennan said. "If using anatomical terminology is too much for you right now, there are several other slang words and colloquialisms I'm sure I could employ more effectively and more appropriately."

"I'm not positive… but, Bren, did you just ask me if I wanted you to… talk dirty to me?" Booth said, surprised.

Brennan nodded in the affirmative. "Yes. Do you?"

"I, ah… I think you should do whatever you want to do, Bren. Whatever feels… right," Booth choked out eventually. She really was so much more than he had ever thought possible, and every time Booth began to think he had finally figured out exactly who Dr. Temperance Brennan was, she surprised him all over again.

"Okay," Brennan replied simply. "Then, instinctively, I would say that instead of referring to your penis as a phallus… calling it a 'cock' might work just a bit better, I think."

Booth felt his throat go dry. He swallowed once, but remained silent. After all, what *could* he say to a statement like that? Brennan took his silence as agreement with her choice and smiled as she continued. "You liked it when I just called your phallus a cock, didn't you, Booth?"

"How… why do you say that?"

"I saw it twitch," Brennan said, bringing her finger towards the tip of his erection, but not quite touching it. As her finger came closer, Booth again cursed at himself mentally, as the very thing he was trying to deny had happened in the first place, occurred once again. "Yup. Just like that," Brennan repeated.

"Sorry," Booth muttered. "I, ah—"

"No apologies are necessary. You're sweet to indulge me in my explorations," Brennan said. "Your will power is quite remarkable. I'm surprised you've been able to hold this position as long as you have without making any move to initiate coitus… errr, I'm sorry. Not coitus… 'fuck' – that's a better word. I'm surprised you haven't moved to start fucking me yet."

"If you keep talking like that—"

"Sorry," Brennan grinned wickedly. "But, I do have a question."

"What?"

"If you're this sensitive about me looking and talking about your cock, what are you going to do when I actually put my hand on it?"

Booth squeezed his eyes shut and then said, "Whatever you can dish out, Bren, I can take."

"Is that a challenge?"

"You tell me."

"It sounded like one. And, as such, I accept," Brennan said, moving her hand quickly so that Booth did stagger a bit again as he felt her grip his erection.

The friction and pressure as she slid her hand up and down his length was almost too much for Booth. His eyes closed once again, he didn't notice when Brennan took her free hand, moved to the tip of his shaft, and touched a bead of precum that had glistened at her in the light. Taking it between her thumb and forefinger, Brennan rubbed it, curious about its consistency and texture. Scientifically, from a theoretical standpoint, she knew exactly what it was, what had caused it, and many other factual details. However, being faced with a situation that necessitated her applying theoretical knowledge to an actual situation – in other words, the mere reality of the whole experience - was something completely different than she had ever anticipated, and Brennan found that point surprising. Personalizing the experience by attaching someone's name and face to it, especially someone like Booth's name and his perfect face to the conceptual body she had studied over the years as a student, combined with *her* reactions to Booth, gave her entirely different perspective. Collectively, Brennan was both bewildered and exhilarated. Raising her finger to her mouth, instinctual curiosity getting the better of her, Brennan opened her lips and sucked on her finger to see what it tasted like.

"What are you doing?" Booth groaned, when he noticed her hand had stopped moving.

Smiling, she looked up at him, his eyes intently focused on her mouth, as Brennan said, "I wanted to know what it… what *you* tasted like."

Again, Brennan felt his cock jerk in her hand. Booth swiftly sucked in a breath of air, while Brennan, meanwhile, took the prior movement as a sign to resume her ministrations. Pumping him several times, Brennan's hands danced up and down his shaft, eliciting another moan from Booth. Suddenly, she stopped and released the length of his cock, deciding to brush her fingers around the tip of its head instead.

"I didn't expect that you would necessarily be circumcised," Brennan marveled. Touching the curve of the head lightly, she said, "What does that feel like?"

"Like you're driving me out of my skin," Booth gasped.

"Hmmmm," Brennan said, leaning forward, a bit more closely. "Not physically possible, but I think I understand what you mean."

Booth noticed her movements and hoped, but didn't think, that she would actually do what he thought she was going to do…

"Bren, ah-"

His words cut off mid-sentence when Brennan, who had stopped talking, had her tongue dart out, and she began to lick the tip of Booth's erection. She moved tentatively at first, really just because she *had* been curious and wanted to know what he *really* tasted like. As she tilted her head to continue half-sucking, half-licking Booth's cock, Brennan slid half-way down its base and one of her hands came up and cupped Booth's testicles, causing him to realize that, if he didn't stop things quickly, Brennan was going to reduce him to a condition he hadn't experienced since he was 16 and under the bleachers in high school. Pulling back from her just slightly, Brennan immediately read the body signal and released Booth from her mouth with an audible *POP*.

Looking up at him, concern again evident in her eyes, Booth tried to reassure her by reaching down, putting both hands under her arms, and pulling Brennan to her feet.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked innocently.

"God, no," Booth said, still out of breath. "I… just… if you keep doing that, I'm not going to last as long as I need to—"

"Ahh," Brennan said. "The excessive oral stimulation was increasing your sensitivity and building towards your ejaculat—"

"Bren, come on—"

"Sorry," Brennan grinned. "How about this… you couldn't handling me sucking you off without coming close to cuming in my mouth, could you?"

Booth laughed as he said, "Yeah. That's about the size of it."

"So, my actions were pleasing you?" Brennan asked hopefully.

Nodding, Booth said, "Definitely. But… now, I think it's time to move this to the bed, don't you?"

Brennan glanced at the bed, and then at Booth, and nodded, once again shy. Taking his hand, she led him to the right side of the bed. Sitting down, Brennan reached down and unclasped the buttons on her own jeans. She had just started to unzip them, when Booth moved so that he was kneeling in front of her.

"Let me help you with that," he murmured huskily.

Moving her hands away, Brennan let Booth unzip the jeans, and she lifted her ass up slightly off the bed, bracing her weight on her hands. Booth tugged the jeans down her slim legs, and gave a swift movement at the very end that resulted in their complete removal as she experienced wonderful sensation of fission as the denim whipped down the remainder of her legs. Tossing the jeans aside, Booth stood and took a moment to look at Brennan. She scooted away from the edge of the bed, moving towards the center, now clad in only a fairly nondescript nude colored push-up bra and a simple pair of white string-bikini panties whose only adornment was a bit of lace around the waistband. Her skin, pale but creamy, looked so smooth that Booth ached to touch her.

"Lay down," he said softly.

Brennan quirked an eyebrow at him, her question left unspoken.

"I'm not going to do anything that you won't like," Booth assured her. Brennan still looked reluctant, and so Booth added, "Trust me, huh?"

Nodding, Brennan did as he asked and lay down so that her head was almost at the edge of the far side of the bed while her feet almost touched the edge closest to Booth. She lay in a supine position, both legs closed and at rest on the bed. Standing at the edge of the bed, Booth took his hands, and beginning at her feet, ran his palms up the sides of her calves, over her kneecaps, and towards her thighs. Realizing he needed a better vantage point to get access to the spots he really wanted to concentrate on, Booth took hold of Brennan's ankles, keeping her legs pushed together, and slowly moved them so that they bent upwards at a 45 degree angle on the bed. Brennan's head remained on the bed, but she was watching him as best she could from her vantage point.

"Bren?"

"Yes?"

"Open your legs for me."

Instantaneously, her legs fell open in a languid v-shape. Booth moved onto the bed, crawling onto the space vacated by where her legs had previously laid in parallel form to each other. Gently, he nudged her feet a part, and, reclining on his legs, Booth smiled as he now had obtained the position he had earlier desired.

Booth saw Brennan watching him, the trust he saw shining in her eyes almost overwhelming him.

"Close your eyes," he told her.

Slowly, Brennan's eyes shut. Smiling to himself, Booth bent down and began to trail a series of kisses across her left thigh. As he had anticipated, her skin was so soft, it almost seemed to entrance him. Reaching the juncture of her thigh and hipbone, Booth purposely moved his head away from her center, lifted his mouth to her waist, and began to half-kiss, half-suck a wet trail across her torso from left to right. He repeated the movement in reverse, coming down her right hip to her thigh and only stopped when he reached her right kneecap. Still, Booth hadn't really touched her in any definitive vicinity of her clitoris or wet folds. Deciding that a bit of turnabout was fair play at last, Booth suddenly jerked his head up. Moving his hands, Booth ran his finger down the curve of her hip to the middle of her navel and then traced a small line straight down, moving from the waistband of her panties, following a line down the center to the crotch. The movement caused Brennan to buck her hips involuntarily in response.

Imminently pleased with himself at the reaction he had elicted from her, Booth grinned widely. "Easy there, Bren," Booth laughed, as her eyes snapped open and stared wide-eyed at him.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"God, you're panties are already soaked," Booth said. "How wet are you?"

"Extremely aroused and becoming more so as each minute passes," Brennan said, her voice thick with desire.

"Hmmm," Booth said. "So, is that your way of telling me something, Bren?"

"Yes," Brennan rasped. "I would very much like you to do what you just did with your finger, but without the barrier of my panties."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes."

"Any suggestions how best to remove them?"

"I don't care," Brennan muttered. "But, if you don't get them off in about thirty seconds, I'm going to rip them off."

"Hmmm," Booth said, hooking his fingers in the waistband of the panties and giving a slight tug as Brennan lifted her ass up, and he was able to peel the soaked lingerie off of her. However, he hadn't moved the panties more than a couple of inches when Booth realized that *he* would have to move to take them off of her. Brennan seemed to sense the same thing. Suddenly, not willing to wait even a second longer more than was necessary, Brennan moved both of her hands to the bikini string at her right hip.

"Fuck that," Brennan said, unable or unwilling to wait. She ruthlessly pulled at the string, which amused Booth as he heard the seams tear at her actions and fall a part quite compliantly. Moving her hands back to her sides, Brennan grinned at him. "I thought you might be able to use some help."

Following her example, Booth's hands went to the left side of the panties, and he adroitly tore the seam with a satisfying ripping sound that served to arouse him even further. Pushing back the unpleasant tightness of his increasing hard on, Booth tried to be patient. She needed that from him – patience and consideration, and Booth was damned if he wasn't going to give Brennan whatever she wanted… and more. Always. For her? Everything and always.

The panties now no longer surrounding Brennan's waist, Booth gave a savage pull on the front waistband. Brennan lifted her ass again at the same time, but shivered slightly when a breath of air made contact with her newly uncovered and most delicate of areas. Looking down at her in appreciation, Booth eventually moved his eyes back up to meet hers.

"Bren?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"You need to talk to me."

"Now?" Brennan asked incredulously. "About what? World politics?"

"No," Booth laughed. "I meant… well, I guess I gotta ask… you, ah… have touched yourself before, right?"

"Are you asking me if I masturbate?"

Booth frowned, and Brennan amended.

"Get myself off?"

"Yes."

"Of course," Brennan said. "Why?"

"Because," Booth said. "I want to make this as pleasurable as I can for you… and, chances are… you've got a better shot at cuming now as opposed to later."

"You mean when you pop my cherry?" Brennan said evilly. "I know that. Most women in my age group experience the majority of their orgasms clitorally versus vaginally anyway."

"Hmmm, well, okay," Booth said. "So, ah… I want to make you feel good. You need to tell me how to touch you… what to do, okay?"

"So, just so I know I'm not misunderstanding you, you're actually giving me permission to order you around?"

"Only in this," Booth laughed.

"Maybe we could start," Brennan said, "by getting rid of my damn bra? My nipples have been hard for at least the last fifteen minutes."

"Yup," Booth said as he leaned forward, some of his chest meeting Brennan's as she pushed herself up, and he reached behind her back. Their eyes locked for a minute, and he expertly unclasped the bra. However, instead of moving back so she could pull the bra off, Booth leaned down and began to kiss her. "God, I love it that you're so bossy. Even in bed."

"Even in bed?" she repeated through their frenzied kisses.

"Especially in bed," Booth corrected himself.

Locking her hands behind his head, Brennan felt a familiar tightening in the pit of her stomach. She had already been turned on, and, as her panties had attested, Brennan had been wet from the very first second she had started touching Booth's ass. His nearness and personal ministrations had only sought to increase her ardor.

Trailing a series of kisses down her jaw line, across neck and over her shoulder blade, Brennan shivered in delight.

"More," she pleaded. "Please, Booth. More."

Realizing that if he wasn't careful, he wouldn't have the willpower to draw this out like she needed him to, Booth pulled away. Brennan gave a slight mewl of protest. However, when she saw he had only uncovered the length of her body to reach forward and pull the bra off of her, Brennan relented.

Tossing the offending garment on the floor, Booth got his first real glimpse of Brennan's breasts and sucked in a breath of appreciation.

"God, you've got a great pair of tits," he muttered. As Brennan had confessed, her nipples stood erect and firm, her areolas a light dusky rose color, a couple of shades darker than her pale skin. Raising his hands to each breast, he used his palms to cup them in appreciation. "Perfect," he grunted.

Moving his thumbs so that he began to draw small circles around her areolas, Brennan involuntarily closed her eyes and arched her back forward as he continued to touch her.

"Booth—"

"Shush," he murmured. "I'm busy."

Booth moved his fingers so that he brushed the tip of each nipple, causing a swift intake of breath from Brennan each time in the process. She gasped and continued to writhe, making Booth want to see what other responses he could elicit from her. Moving his head towards her left breast, he removed his hand and replaced it with his mouth. Using his tongue to mirror the earlier efforts of his thumb, Booth flicked it over her nipple very gently, and he heard Brennan moan his name in response. Inordinately pleased with himself, Booth added another movement to his pattern, alternating between licking her nipple and crowning it with a wet kiss that morphed into a greedy sucking motion. Not to leave her other breast unattended, he eventually moved his head to her right side and repeated the movement.

"Oh, Booth," she moaned in appreciation. "Please don't stop doing that."

He chuckled at her, and said, "Sorry, Bren. But, I sorta have to-"

"Why?"

"Because, I need my fingers and my mouth to attend to anther part of your gorgeous fucking anatomy that I've neglected for long enough, huh?"

Trailing a series of kisses down her stomach, this time Booth didn't stop at the crest of her pubic bone. Instead, this time, he moved lower, running his fingers through the small tangle of curly auburn hair that rested just above her mons. Brennan groaned again, and Booth moved his facer lower, eager to see what she tasted like since Brennan already knew that of him.

However, a rational thought occurred to him, and Booth felt that he needed a bit of information before he proceeded.

"Bren?'

"Hmmm?"

"When you touch yourself… what do you do?"

Her hand fumbled for his, and Booth could tell she was already halfway to an orgasm. Her body was incredibly responsive to his touch, and that only inflamed Booth even further. Brennan took his hand and separated his index and forefinger from the others. Pushing them together, she pressed them down to the top of her labia.

"Start here," she murmured. "My clit is just there…."

Pushing his fingers down, Brennan whimpered as he grazed the top of her clitoris.

"Fuck—" she moaned. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Good?" Booth asked.

Her eyes squeezed shut, Brennan nodded. "And, then, down. If you move down… I'm wet enough that you don't need any more lube to help you."

"What else?" Booth asked as he followed her advice. Moving the two fingers along her slit, he dipped inside her warmth, gathering some of her precum on his fingers. He was tempted to tease her since his fingers were so close to her center, but the desire to taste her won out. Withdrawing his fingers, at which Brennan let out a loud howl of displeasure, Booth grinned as he lifted his hand to his mouth and sucked on his fingers.

"Mmmmm," Booth murmured. "Sweet. You're so fucking sweet."

At this, Brennan's eyes snapped open again.

She watched him lick his fingers clean. When he was done, Brennan grabbed his hand and said, "I want these in me now."

"You're close already, aren't you?"

She nodded her head, a slight whimper escaping. "And, I can't stand it anymore. Please."

"How many will feel comfortable?"

"I've… I've been using three the past couple of days to stretch so that it won't be as bad when you tear my hymen… but, normally, if I were just trying to get myself off, I'd probably only use two."

"Okay," Booth murmured.

He reached up and gave her one more kiss before fully concentrating on his goal. Her hands extended on either side of her, Brennan fisted the sheets in sweet misery as Booth took his two fingers, placed them together as she had shown him, and moved from the top of her mons to her clitoris, made a circular motion over Brennan's clit that caused her to arch her back, and then down her warm slit and into the silky softness that was pure *her*. Booth started slowly, inserting first one finger as he moved it in and out of her. A second one soon joined it, and Brennan began to half-groan, half-whimper as he moved his hand.

"Faster," she moaned. "Oh, God, Booth. Faster."

He increased his speed, and Brennan's eyes were again clinching shut. Unable to help herself, Brennan snuck her own right hand down the length of her body. Booth watched as she moved to rub her clit in short rapid circles. She shivered, as Booth increased his tempo again.

"Oh, fuck," Brennan muttered. "More. Please… more."

Rubbing herself again, Brennan knew she wasn't that far away from cuming. She could feel it, the familiar building sensation... only this time, it was much, *much* stronger than anything she'd ever felt before. The constant buzz that had filled her earlier was now a steady pulse. A bit more, that's all she needed. Just a little bit more. Close. She was *so* close.

"Oooohhh," Brennan moaned. "Booth. Please."

Now, Booth was plunging his fingers in and out of her warm enveloping wetness, and a part of him remembered suddenly, that his cock was throbbing so badly, had been for quite some time, that it was actually starting to hurt him physically. Realizing that he needed to move things along for both their sakes, Booth murmured, "I can feel that you're almost there, Bren."

"Yeesss—"

"I want you to cum for me, Bren. I want to see what you look like when you do. Cum for me."

"Please, Booth," she twisted. "Oh, fuck… I'm… almost there—"

"Come on, Bren," he encouraged. "You're almost there. Let go. Just let go."

"Ooooh, Booth," she hissed. "Oooooh—"

And, with one last thrust of his fingers into her, Booth felt the tell-tale tremors of her orgasm. They washed over her, and Booth watched in pleasure as he saw her clench and then twitch, the orgasm rocking her entire body. Her hand falling away, Brennan's eyes relaxed as she fell back into the bed. Booth, inordinately pleased with himself, extricated himself from between her legs, and laid down next to her on his side, so that his head was even with hers.

Brennan struggled to regain her breath for several moments, and when she finally did open her eyes, she found Booth watching her.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hi," she responded shyly.

"Welcome back," he grinned.

"Oh, Booth—" she began. "That was *SO* much better than when I do it by myself."

"Glad to hear it," Booth said. "Better, huh?"

"Uh huh," Brennan said, a glow and buzz of warmth emanating from her body. "I don't care what you do to me for the rest of the night. Whatever happens next, that was so worth it."

Booth laughed. "You made my job easy. I didn't even have to use my mouth."

"Later," Brennan replied. "But, for right now—"

"Yes, Bren?"

"I'd really like to have you inside me," Brennan said softly. "That okay?"

Booth nodded, brushing a piece of hair off her forehead. "More than okay… if you're sure."

"More than sure," Brennan said. "And more than ready."

"Okay," Booth said. "Just give me a minute—"

"What for?" Brennan said, lifting her head again to look at him.

"I, ah… I need to grab a condom and put it on," Booth said simply.

"Ummm, Booth?" Brennan said. "You brought one?"

"Yeah," Booth said. "I figured, just to be on the safe side."

"Do you have the box?"

"Why?"

"When you bought it, did you get one that has a spermicidal additive or not?"

"Ummm, I think it does, but I'm not sure. I didn't really pay that much attention."

"Oh... okay. But... if…." Brennan stopped, swallowed, and took a couple of quick breaths, as her breathing pattern was still off. "You need to look at the box," she managed at last.

"Why?"

"If… if it says the ingredients contain Nonoxynol-9, we can't use it. I'm allergic," Brennan said. "You really don't want to know how I found out about that, but suffice to say, if anything with Nonoxynol-9 comes into contact with any of my sexual organs, I'm not really going to be physically able to have intercourse tonight, or, potentially, any other night for several days."

Rolling away, a look of anxious worry present on his face, Booth disappeared for a minute to where he had discarded his overnight bag earlier in the outer room. Returning carrying a box, Booth was squinting at the small lettering. Brennan watched him intently. Suddenly, his eyes focused on one word, and Booth scowled in displeasure.

"Fuck—"

"What?"

"You said Nineoxcide-9, right?"

"Nonoxynol-9," Brennan gently corrected with a nod of her head. "But, yes."

Shaking his head in a burst of anger, Booth suddenly threw the box as hard as he could against the opposite wall in an extremely agitated act of impotent frustration. "Damn it! We can't use these."

Sighing, Booth went to sit on the edge of the bed. Brennan could feel the waves of frustration rolling off of him. Forcing herself to sit up, Brennan came up behind him and pressed her naked chest to his back.

"What's wrong?"

Lifting his head in sad frustration, Booth said, "Those are the only condoms I brought, Bren. Unless you have some—"

"I don't."

"Then… that really fucking sucks," Booth said.

"Why?"

Snapping his head up to meet her gaze, Booth said, "Bren… we can't sleep together without, you know—"

"A contraceptive?"

"Well, yeah, for starters," Booth said. "But, there's also the issue of the fact that condoms prevent STDs."

Brennan leaned into him. "You know I've never had sexual intercourse with a man, Booth. I haven't… I haven't let anyone else but me touch me… like you have tonight. I don't have any STDs."

"Yeah, but—"

"Do you?"

"No!" Booth said. "I, ah… aside from the fact that it's been a while… a *long* while… at my last physical at the base infirmary, my tests came back all negative."

"Then, I fail to see what the problem is. I'm clean. You're clean. And, I have to admit, I believe I have a preference for having my first experience of getting fucked without any latex being involved," Brennan said honestly. "I wear those damn gloves for hours and hours each day. I don't really relish the idea of having that material inside me during the first time I experience sexual intercourse, too."

"But," Booth said. "What about… the whole contraceptive aspect?"

"I told you," Brennan said. "There are other forms of contraception besides condoms, Booth, as far as the prevention of pregnancy goes."

"The pill?"

"Yes, to name one," Brennan said. "But, there are others… diaphragms, sponges, spermicidal jellies…."

"That don't contain that stuff that you're allergic to?"

"It's harder to find alternatives," Brennan admitted. "I mostly would have to get it from Europe."

"Would or have?" Booth asked.

"I… I do have something," Brennan said tentatively. "It's a foam. I've never used it before, but you insert it once before and then once after sex. Is that… okay?"

Booth stared at her, how trusting and innocent she suddenly seemed. "You trust me enough?"

"If you tell me I'm not at risk of contracting an STD from you Booth, than, yes, I trust you," Brennan said.

"Do you trust me enough?"

"About the foam?" Booth said. "Yes."

"So… then… we can do this?"

"Yes," Booth said. "On one condition."

"What?"

"You really, really need to hurry and go do whatever you've got to do with that foam. I'm… ah… I've been in pain for a while, Bren… and, I really, really need to cum," Booth said.

Grinning, she leaned her head to kiss him and then pulled away with a grin. "Give me five minutes."

Brennan hopped off the bed and into the bathroom. Following the instructions as best she could, Brennan frowned when the directions indicated that she was supposed to wait a minimum of thirty minutes after the initial application before having sex. Thinking of Booth, his increasing discomfort, the discomfort he had already endured to give her pleasure, Brennan shook her head and put the applicator and box and instructions back under her sink after she had treated herself once, realizing that a second treatment after they had sex should compensate, as the instructions said, for any issues regarding killing the sperm. Rationally, at least in her sex-addled brain, Brennan thought… how big a difference could twenty-five minutes make, anyway?

Entering the bedroom, Brennan sprinted into a run and launched herself in the direction of the bed, and at Booth, with a happy yelp. Tackling him, she smiled appreciatively when he grabbed her in his arms and fell backwards onto the bed.

"Hi," he grinned.

"Hey," Brennan mouthed back. "Booth?"

"Yeah, Bren?"

"Can you do me a favor now?"

"Sure. What?"

"Will you *please* fuck me now?"

"Hmmmm," Booth said appreciatively. "I suppose, if I have to, but we really are going to have to work on your choice of verbiage, Bren. There is more to it than just fucking, if it's done right… and I intend to do this very, very right with you."

"Don't let me force you, Booth."

Rolling them over so that Booth was on top of Brennan, her body covered by his, Booth felt a frisson of excitement again shoot through him.

"God, I love the way you feel," he moaned, moving his mouth to the soft skin at the juncture where her neck met her shoulder. "So soft."

Brennan could feel the hardness of Booth's erection pushing into her thigh, and it made her feel a bit giddy. *This* was happening. It really was happening, finally, and with Booth. He was like this because of *her*. *All* because of *her*.

"I want you," she cried as his chin roughly caressed her shoulder. "Please," she groaned. "Now. I want you."

"I want you, too, Bren," Booth murmured.

Shifting his hips a bit, Booth adjusted himself so that his erection was now pressed lightly against Brennan's wet slit. However, he used every ounce of will power to keep himself from going further until he could deliver one final warning.

"I know you know it'll hurt."

"Hopefully, my stretching exercises will lessen the level of discomfort."

"Even still, if it's too much, tell me, and we'll stop."

"Do it," Brennan begged. "Quickly."

"Like ripping off a bandaid?"

Brennan nodded.

Booth kissed her once, stopping himself from telling her a thought that had been echoing in his head for some time, and immediately focused his attention to the task at hand. Using his hand to adjust his position slightly, Booth felt for Brennan's opening and didn't have to search very long when he felt her lifting her back to help him in his endeavors. The tip of Booth's cock slid welcomely towards its goal, as he inched himself bit-by-bit into Brennan. He felt Brennan's nails dig into his back as she sharply hissed at the movement, but felt gratified when she shifted her right leg to hook up around his waist.

When he judged himself to be about half-way home, Booth stopped and groaned.

"You feel so fucking fantastic. Tight and warm and perfect."

Not hearing any response, Booth moved to look at Brennan's face. Her eyes were closed, an indescribable look on her face.

Booth moved his mouth to Brennan's ears and murmured, "Bren?"

At her name, Brennan's head turned to meet Booth's gaze.

"Huh?"

"You still with me?"

"Yes… I, ah… I just… I can't think very much right now, Booth."

"Don't," he grinned. "You're not supposed to… don't think, just feel."

"I am," she whispered vaguely.

"You okay?"

"Yes… just… give me another second or two."

"God, you're beautiful," Booth said, moving to kiss her.

After a minute, Brennan unclenched her closed eyes, locked her gaze with Booth's and said, "Move."

"You're sure."

"Yes," she confirmed. "Move. Now."

Nodding, Booth's hands grabbed for each of hers. Interlinking his fingers with hers, he gave her a reassuring squeeze and lowered his head to kiss hers. His movements distracted and disorientated Brennan a bit, splitting her focus. Booth still hadn't begun to move as he deepened his kiss, his tongue plundering the sweetness of her mouth. Brennan arched her back to moan into his mouth, and, at that exact same second, Booth ruthlessly thrust into Brennan, pushing himself past a faint bit of resistance before he slid as deeply into her as he could go. Brennan, caught off guard, found a small gasp that ripped from her throat swallowed by Booth's kiss. She closed her eyes as he slowly pulled out halfway, and then, using a more gentle movement, again moved forward to fill her. The slick traction of his movements overwhelmed Brennan as she tried to process the strange sensations she was feeling. Brennan didn't feel as violated as she had anticipated, but it was difficult to describe. A bit uncomfortable first, like a displeasing tightness that could only be solved by if she could just adjust something... Brennan suddenly rolled her hips as the thought occurred to her, and Booth responded by moaning her name.

Brennan's actions had caught him off-guard, and Booth started to feel the pinpricks of white light that he felt at the edge of his vision begin to overwhelm him. Given how long he had been hard, Booth knew he wouldn't need very much. A few strokes as he tried to be as gentle, but firmly consistent as possible, and soon Booth lost himself in the rhythm.

"Bren—" he grunted. "Oh, God… you're… wonderful… so…. Ohhhh, fuck."

Picking up his tempo, Booth released his hands from hers, needed to use his arms to bolster himself above Brennan. Splaying both hands palm down on the bed, Booth braced as he pumped into her a couple of more times, moving faster now… and suddenly he felt the world dissolve into an overwhelming whiteness as he came. Brennan's freed hands had come up to his back, and she again racked her nails each time he moved in her. When Booth finally came, Brennan felt that it was perhaps the most indescribable and overwhelming of some of the sensations she had been feeling during this night. He fell against her a bit, despite his best intentions, crying out her name as Brennan felt his warmth flow up in her.

It took them both several minutes to gain some semblance of the ability to process rational thoughts again, despite the fact, as Booth had anticipated, Brennan actually had not climaxed again when he penetrated her. Flushed and giddy with empowerment and satisfaction, Brennan lightly ran her fingers up and down Booth's back. Swallowing a couple of times, Booth suddenly realized who and where he was, and glanced down at Brennan. Her eyes shone at him, ablaze with energy.

"Hi," she said, smiling a lopsided grin at him.

"Hi," he breathed.

"You okay?"

"Yes. You?"

"More than."

"No pain?"

"A bit… at first, but no, not really."

"Good," Booth said, as he leaned his head down and planted a kiss on her cheek.

Moving to pull over of her, Brennan cried in protest. Booth looked at her curiously, and Brennan explained.

"Do you have to… yet?"

"No, but—"

"Don't," Brennan said. "At least, not yet. I… I want to feel you for just a little bit longer."

"Okay," Booth agreed, moving his hands to wrap under her back. "But, not like this. I'm going to crush you in about thirty seconds because I don't think I can hold myself up anymore."

Brennan nodded, and allowed herself to be guided by Booth's actions. Rolling them over together, Brennan found herself in a very pleasing position with her on top and Booth on the bottom. Relaxing against his chest, Brennan sighed in contentment, feeling, perhaps, for the first time in her life, safe, warm, wanted, and more secure than she had ever thought possible. The sensations soothed her, and Brennan smiled slightly, her gratitude towards Booth unspoken, but still true and present despite the lack of words she had to verbalize her emotions. At some point, she would tell him, Brennan vowed. But, not now… for now, all she wanted was what she had… Booth, and her, and both of them, together, in bed… in a private world that extended no further than beyond the touch of their skin and the strange and unexplainable bond that seemed to be growing stronger with each passing minute. For some reason, that, too, pleased Brennan as she snuggled against Booth's chest, and let the calm of the moment claim her.

* * *

><p>Sometime later, Booth lay in Brennan's bed on his back, loving the feel of her laying draped over his chest. Despite her inexperience, her enthusiasm for their mutual endeavors had impressed Booth. As she had once claimed to him, Brennan *did* have excellent stamina.<p>

He thought she had dozed off, but his error was corrected when Brennan said drowsily, "We should shower."

Tilting his head down at hers, Brennan eyes opened up lazily, "I'm sleepy, but we should shower first. The warm water, it'll help relax my muscles."

"Some ibuprofen might not be a bad idea either," Booth commented. "You can get up if you want to. You don't have to stay with me. I can clean up by myself."

Frowning, Brennan shook her head. "You want to leave?"

Confusion registering at his words, Booth countered, "I thought that was your way of telling me you wanted me to go so that you could be by yourself?"

"No," Brennan said. "I assumed you would stay."

"Stay for how long?"

"The night?" Brennan said. "It's Sunday tomorrow, and I don't have to be anyplace. Do you?"

"No," Booth replied hopefully.

"Then, stay," Brennan said happily. "Stay with me."

"Okay," he nodded and then bent his head to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. "If you're sure."

"I am," Brennan said. "But, I think I really would prefer it if both of us showered first. That's why I said 'we'."

Narrowing his eyes, Booth said, "'Shower' as in for the purposes of bathing or 'shower' as in for the purposes of fun with water?"

"Can't it be both?" Brennan responded slyly. "Now, that I've embarked on actually having a sex life, I don't intend to be abstinent. I plan to start making up for lost time immediately, Booth… that is… if you're still willing."

"Oh, I'm willing all right," Booth said. "Ready and willing. I just… I don't want to hurt you… or push you too hard."

"You aren't… you won't," Brennan said. "And, I'll let you know if you are or do."

Reaching down to trace a small circle on her bare shoulder blade, Booth said, "We, ahh… still need to take care of that thing."

"What thing?"

"Ummm… you know, since we didn't use the condom?" Booth stopped and paused as he said, "It was stupid of me not to check with you. I should've asked yesterday if you were allergic to anything."

"Nonoxynol-9 isn't a common allergy, Booth. As such, it's not a big deal—"

"Even still, I should've asked."

"Don't worry. I'll take care of it," Brennan said. "But, if we are going to engage in sexual intercourse within the next few minutes again ,as I fervently anticipate, it would be redundant to do something now and then just have to do it again in another half hour."

"But, you won't forget, right?" Booth asked.

"No, I won't forget," Brennan said with a warm smile. "Now, are you coming or not?"

Gingerly pushing herself off of him, she let the bedroom sheet fall away, and she rolled off the bed as lithely as a cat. Arching her back in a stretching motion, Brennan yawned once and then smiled at him, extending a hand in a 'come-hither' gesture… and, at that point, Booth knew… who was he to deny Temperance Brennan anything?

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	22. Ch 21: The Change in Brennan

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 21 – The Change in Brennan's Personality<p>

* * *

><p>If there was one thing that Dr. Jack Stanley Hodgins IV liked to admit that he was good at, it was noticing patterns and shifts in well-established trends. You really had to be, he thought. Otherwise, it would be impossible to detect the government's manipulation of certain events and situations if you couldn't discern normal behavior from abnormal behavior. Glancing at where Dr. Temperance Brennan stood on the forensic platform in the Medico-Legal Lab of the Jeffersonian Institute, Hodgins decided that he now had observed enough evidence to be able to feel relatively confident in his claim that Dr. Brennan was acting *different*. Something was definitely off with her, although Hodgins struggled to determine what exactly it was that he seemed to be picking up as far as a difference in his colleague's behavior.<p>

Leaning back in his seat, twirling a pencil in his hand, Hodgins thought back to earlier that morning. Brennan had arrived at the lab, somehwat later than usual. She had come strolling through the lab's sliding glass door at 9:00am, prompt by the normal standards of the traditional work day, but not by their squint standards per se. However, Hodgins knew that Brennan, with very rare variation, always arrived in her office no later than 7:30am. Deviation number one noted, he thought. Two, once Brennan had arrived, Hodgins had surreptitiously walked by her office door. The fact that it had been open hadn't been all that unusual. However, when walking by the door, Hodgins heard what sounded like the strains of a Cyndi Lauper song playing softly from Brennan's computer. Stopping to glance in the window, Hodgins then *did* see something very, very strange. Not only was Dr. Temperance Brennan in her office, and playing music, but she seemed to be allowing her head to sway to the music as she softly sang along. Yes, second definite example of abnormal behavior. Other images floated to Hodgins mind – the arrival of a flower bouquet delivered to Brennan's office, and not the red roses that she had received occasionally in the past. No, those flowers, when they had arrived a couple of weeks before seemed to be more understated, more simplistic, and elicited a more pleasing reaction from Brennan than Hodgins had ever seen. Now, looking at Brennan on the platform, Hodgins was fairly convinced that *something* was different with Brennan, he just couldn't say what.

"Dr. Hodgins?"

A voice rang out and interrupted his reverie. Standing up, Hodgins head appeared over the platform's railing as he scanned the area to see the source of the voice, even though he knew it could only have come from one person.

Brennan stood in front of a pair of remains, conducting an initial examination. Clad in her traditional blue lab coat, her hair pulled back into its normally messy ponytail, Hodgins mentally stumbled as he reconsidered his earlier assessment about Brennan's potential change in behavior. At first glance, she seemed to be perfectly normal now that she was on the platform. Maybe, Hodgins thought, maybe he *had* been mistaken.

"Something I can help you with, Dr. B?"

"Yes," Brennan said. "I'm ready for you to begin taking scrapings of these foot bones so that you may state your mineralogical profile analysis if you still believe you can get an idea about what type of diet this man consumed in the years before death."

"Sure," Hodgins said. Moving towards the platform, Hodgins suddenly stopped mid-step as his brain processed the specifics of Brennan's actual syntax.

'Foot bones'? _Really_? 'Foot bones'?"

Since when did Dr. Temperance Brennan refer to any portion of the skeleton's anatomy by a term as imprecise as 'foot bones'? Nope, Hodgins decided, returning to his earlier assessment. Something was definitely off with her. Hodgins just wasn't sure what, or more importantly, why, and the not knowing was going to drive him insane if he had to hold it inside for very much longer.

Resuming his path towards the platform, Hodgins swiped his access card as he climbed the steps to stand next to Brennan.

"Ummm, Dr. B?"

Raising her head, Brennan smiled at Hodgins. The site made Hodgins shiver. Brennan *never* smiled. Never. Now, she was smiling… at him? It was creepy... and just too much.

Noticing his strange look, Brennan replied innocently, "Yes, Dr. Hodgins?"

"Ahhh," Hodgins said, a bit uncertain as to how to proceed. "Are you okay, Dr. Brennan?"

"Aside from a bit of muscle strain, yes, I'm quite well, Dr. Hodgins. Why do you ask?" Brennan asked.

"I don't know," Hodgins said, lamely. "No reason, I guess. I just—"

"Yes?" Brennan prodded.

Not one to allow amicable civilized cues to defeat him, Hodgins reverted to type as he suddenly straightened out his posture and confidently said, "Okay, I gotta ask, Dr. B. What's up? I mean, 'foot bones'? Seriously? I've known you for six months, and never ONCE have you ever used such imprecise terminology. So, what gives?"

At his mini-diatribe, Brennan laughed again, a bright smile still evident on her face. "Oh, I apologize." She stopped for a minute and then said, "I've been endeavoring to be more casual in my word choice lately. I'm trying to be a bit more… 'normal', in how I speak when I'm outside the lab. Considering the fact that it's Monday morning, and I spent all weekend in that mindset, I hadn't realized I had not shifted back into a more professional mentality. I'll endeavor to do so immediately, and I apologize for any inconvenience my imprecision may have caused you. You may begin to collect samples for your particulate analysis on the anterior third and forth left metatarsals at your earliest convenience."

"Uhhh, right," Hodgins said. Glancing at the clock, Hodgins said, "I'll get right on these, but there's no way I'll have any type of preliminary analysis ready much before 8pm or so."

"That's all right," Brennan said. "Please take as much as time as necessary to be as thorough and complete in your analyses as you usually are, Dr. Hodgins. There's no pressing reason to hurry the tests, especially considering the fact that I will not be returning to the lab after lunch."

"Oh?" Hodgins said, yet again adding another piece of evidence to the ever growing pile of facts as to why Dr. Temperance Brennan was definitely acting *weird*.

"Yes," Brennan said, smiling again as Hodgins felt another strange chill creep down his back at the strangeness of seeing Brennan as if she were almost… happy? "I'll be taking a half-day this afternoon. I have several personal matters that need my attention. If anything comes up between now and my point of departure at 12:30pm, please feel free to consult me. Otherwise, it can wait until tomorrow morning."

"Sure thing, Dr. B," Hodgins said, pulling on a pair of gloves to begin taking the samples at the areas that Brennan had indicated.

Brennan nodded and then returned to the opposite end of the remains and resumed her work. Hodgins gave her one more look before of confused disbelief before he bent and started to take his own samples for analysis.

* * *

><p>Seeley Booth stood in the science fiction section of the Barnes and Noble book store in Georgetown. His eyes running over several titles, Booth didn't want to admit why he had stopped in this particular section of the book store, but he obviously couldn't deny it as he continued to stare at the covers of several paperbacks. One, in particular, caught his eye as Booth grabbed it and scanned the summary on the back of the book.<p>

_Resistance is Futile! Star Trek: First Contact, a novelization of the 1997 movie, written by J.M. Dillard. Captain Jean-Luc Picard and the brave crew of the USS Enterprise-E face the most serious threat they've ever encountered as the Borg Collective attempts to destroy the United Federation of Planets and all of humanity at it's weakest point – in the past. Time traveling back more than two hundred years in the past, Picard and his crew must fight the Borg without changing any of the crucial events that resulted in humanity's first contact with the Vulcan race. They must protect their future without changing their past—_

A sigh of disgust emanating from Booth's mouth, he shook his head in frustration as he quickly put the book back on the shelf. His actions had seemed to attract the attention of a tall and skinny teenage boy with curly dark brown hair, wide dark brown eyes, and a very bad case of acne. Booth could only describe the gangly youth as a complete and total nerd. His assessment was reaffirmed when the youth looked up from the latest Star Wars novelization he held in his hands.

Pointing at the book, the boy said, "I was kind of disappointed with that novelization myself. I don't think it really did the movie justice. Dillard's usually not so formulaic. They should've gotten Peter David to write it, but I think he's been too busy with the New Frontier series, since he's the only one writing them, so ,I guess they had to take who they could find."

"Ummm, yeah," Booth said. Looking at the book, Booth ventured a nod, "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," the youth said, snapping the book shut.

"Okay, this is going to seem like a completely random and odd question for a total stranger to be asking you, but—"

"Dude, it's the sci fi section at Barnes and Nobles. Aside from when I go to conventions, this is the exact place where I expect for random and odd things to happen. I'm actually disappointed when they don't. So, shoot," the younger man said.

"Oh, okay," Booth said. "Well, here's the thing… time travel—"

"Time travel a la Spock and Kirk slingshot around the sun and go back in time, Sam Beckett leaping within his own life time, or Doc Brown/Marty McFly time travel?" the youth interrupted him.

"Ummm, what's the difference?" Booth asked.

"Spock and Kirk represent the theory that multiple alternate realities existing all at once and you can easily move between them, Beckett's is the time travel that's limited to his own lifetime as he changes the lives of others because of some divine plan, trying to 'put right what once went wrong', and Doc Brown's is the time travel that assumes their is only one time line in existance at any given moment," he clarified.

"Ummm, the second one, then, I think," Booth said. He then quickly shook his head and said, "Or, maybe the third one? I don't know, does it reallyu matter because all I need to now is that, hypothetically, if that type of time travel is possible… and let's just say that, from the perspective of the guy doing the time traveling, do you think it'd be normal if, the longer he stays in the past, the less he remembered about the future?"

"Oh, absolutely," the young man said. "Particularly if the time traveler is messing around in the original series of events. If his actions result in a drastic change from what originally happened, that's when wicked crazy stuff can start happening like blinking people out of reality starts to happen. Remember what Doc Brown said when he saw the photo of Marty's brother and sister? They were being erased… FROM EXISTENCE." The younger man laughed and shook his head in obvious pleasure. "Totally awesome."

Frowning, Booth said, "Listen, I don't know you at all, but I think you may take this a bit too seriously."

"What?" the youth replied. "I'm on vacation from Pennsylvania. It's a hobby. What's the big deal?"

"Nothing, I guess," Booth said. "Just… umm… make sure you get out once in a while, okay? A young guy like you is at a crucial point in his development. Make sure… just have other hobbies than this stuff, and you'll be fine."

"Oh, don't worry," the youth waved his hand. "I like other stuff besides sci fi. I started reading some psychological theory a few months ago, and I really, really like it. I'm thinking I might major in it once I graduate and start my degree—"

"Yeah, that's great," Booth said. "Now, about this time travel thing…. If the time traveler goes into the past and starts changing things, why can't he remember what he's already done if he's from the future and his actions happened in the past? I mean, is it some type of amnesia, if say, he got conked on the head at some point in the past?"

"Don't you remember how Doc Brown explained it to Marty in 'Back to the Future, Part II'?"

"No," Booth said.

"How can you not have seen 'Back to the Future'-"

"I did," Booth said with a dismissive wave of his his hand. "But, I just don't remember... so humor me."

"Well… he said, 'Imagine that this line represents time... Here's the present 1985, the future, and the past. Prior to this point in time, somewhere in the past, the timeline skewed into this tangent, creating an alternate 1985. Alternate to you, me and Einstein. But reality for everyone else.' Marty wouldn't remember any of his past actions because he hadn't traveled back in time yet to complete them despite the fact that, chronologically, his results manifested themselves in his perception of the timeline before the actions that caused those results actually transpired in the first place," the young man said. "With me?"

"Ummm, I'm not sure. Maybe. You're saying he wouldn't be able to remember having done things in the past when he was in the future, because he hadn't left the future to come back to the past to do them yet?" Booth said, a pained wince still on his face.

"Yup, basically," the youth said. "It's not amnesia. He wouldn't remember doing the things yet because he haven't done them yet, so there's nothing to remember. You gotta remember, man, time is not necessarily always linear."

"Then, what about if the time traveler starts losing older memories that he knew he had at one point in time, but is starting to not have them the longer he's in the past?"

"Well, that depends," the younger man said. "Is the time traveler going to eventually return to the changed future, or is he stuck in the past and just has to live through everything again?"

"I, ah..." Booth said, suddenly realizing he didn't have an answer to that question, as he hadn't really considered it before. "I don't know. There's... there's no reason why he'd expect to necessarily find himself fast forwarded once he did whatever he had been sent back to fix. I would guess... maybe... he just lives through it all again?"

"Well, that might explain why his older memories are fading the longer he's in the past," the youth told Booth. "As time passes, he becomes acclimated to the new-old reality of the past as opposed to the old-new reality of his future."

"So, he's not going nuts," Booth said. "The memories... whatever... they were real?"

"Totally, bro. He's not crazy," the youth said.

"Then, if he's not crazy, do you think he'd eventually forget everything?" Booth asked. "And, don't call me bro."

"Sorry," the young man smiled. Then, he quickly answered the question by saying, "Maybe." Stopping to think about his response for a moment more, quickly thinking about Booth's question in detail. His decision made, he quickly nodded his head in excitement. "Okay, yeah, eventually," the younger man responded. "It'd probably just fade away like a dream that you know you had when you woke up that you can remember perfectly in the first few minutes after you've been jolted awake, but as the day goes on, you can't remember the specifics of it because they get hazier and hazier-"

"God, I hate this," Booth said. "It makes my head hurt."

"Well, then don't even think about asking me about which was the initiating action… the time traveler actually going back into the past, or the altered events in the past causing the time traveler in the future to go back to the past in the first place," the younger man said. "There's really no way to tell, at least that's what most quantum physicists postulate."

"Uhhh, what?"

"It's a temporal paradox, dude. Which came first… the proverbial chicken or the egg… the time traveler going back in time and leaving evidence of his past journeys for his future self to find or the future self going back in time because he found the evidence. Which came first? Well, it's a temporal paradox."

"This is making my brain *really* hurt," Booth complained.

Laughing, the young man set the Star Wars book back on the shelf. "You and some of the best minds in the world, man, Stephen Hawking and other quantum physicists, among them."

"Lance!" an older woman with graying dark brown hair called out from the store's aisle. "Come on, sweetie. Time to go. We're going to be late for our dinner reservations."

Flashing Booth a smile, the youth turned to leave. Nodding, he said, "Maybe you should try something a little less mind-bending, man? Maybe a comic book? You seem like the brooding type. Bruce Wayne might be more your style, or maybe Hal Jordan? Overall, I'd say try something a bit lighter so you don't pop a neuron." The youth laughed and the gave a casual nod of goodbye. "Later."

"Yeah, thanks," Booth said. "Thanks for the help."

"Not a problem," Lance Sweets said. "And, good luck."

Walking away from the science fiction section, Booth headed towards the front of the store, scanning the various aisles for Brennan. At last, he found her standing in the bargain book section of the store, holding a stack of paperbacks in her arms, cradling them like a cache of horded treasures.

"So, whatcya find, Bren?" Booth said, coming up to stand next to her.

Brennan, who had been scrutinizing a stack of other books in front of her, handed Booth her own pile. "I've selected these based on research that I conducted last night after our discussion about my writing. Based on circulation numbers, number of weeks on the New York Times Best Sellers List, number of follow-up works, and several other facts, these are the books I've deemed to be the most representative of successful works crime-fiction genre."

"Okay, so, let's see… _Presumed Innocent _by Turrow is a classic. _Kiss the Girls_ is Alex Cross at Patterson's best. Hmmmm," Booth said, when his eyes fell on the Grisham book in the stack.

"I thought we decided _The Firm _was better than _A Time to Kill_," Booth said.

"No," Brennan said. "*You* were the one who said that _The Firm_ was a better book. From all the summaries I've read, it seems like _A Time to Kill_ is much stronger structurally from the perspective of plot development. And, it does seem to have a much more creative premise than his other books. However, that does seem logical since it was Grisham's first book."

"But, Bren," Booth said, shooting her what most other women would recognize as the classic 'wounded puppy dog look' – which a man with such dark brown eyes like Booth could pull off much more effectively than most others – however, Brennan was somewhat clueless, forcing Booth to continue verbally. "I thought you trusted me."

"I do," Brennan said instantly.

"Not if you're getting _A Time to Kill _instead of _The Firm_," Booth whined lightly.

Rolling her eyes, Brennan sighed and said, "Look at the next book, Booth."

Pulling _A Time to Kill_ from the top of the stack, Booth immediately broke into a wide grin as he saw the cover of _The Firm_ staring back up at him.

"See?" Brennan said. "I thought I'd get them both. That way I would lose any information that could be potentially very valuable to me from the perspective of a writer trying to break into the genre. And, I thought it would make you happy since it means I've valued your opinion enough to take your advice even though it directly contradicts my own choice."

"Awww, Bren," Booth chuckled. "That almost sounds like you just said something nice about me."

Leaning in to him, Brennan placed a light kiss on his cheek. "I'd like to think that even if I don't verbally demonstrate the extreme levels of personal esteem of which I feel for you, I do compensate in other ways."

Turning his head to lean in for another kiss, this one not as chaste or brief as the first one, Booth murmured, "True, true, Bren. How about demonstrating some of that personal esteem right now?"

Brennan did indulge Booth with one quick kiss before she pulled away and winked at him. "Later."

Grumbling, Booth finished looking at the stack of remaining paperbacks in his hands, which included books by authors such as James Lee Burke, Michael Connelly, and Dennis Lehane. Brennan watched him, the look of expectation clear on her face as she waited for him to finish seeing what she had chosen. Deciding to tease her a bit, Booth kept his face unresponsive and remained quiet.

Brennan, never one to be very patient, finally prompted him at last by saying, "Well?"

"Well, what, Bren?"

"Booth," Brennan said, a touch of annoyed complaint coming into her voice. "Stop teasing me."

_God, _Booth thought_. She *is* a fast learner if she's already figured out when I'm teasing her_.

"Fine," Booth laughed. "I think they're all good choices."

"Do you think I need to get any others? I was just perusing the publisher overruns that have been greatly reduced in price for a quick sale," Brennan said, gesturing to the shelf of books in front of them

Booth quickly scanned the titles in front of them, and suddenly he felt a familiar cold shiver run down the back of his neck as his eyes focused on a very familiar looking cover. Bending down, Booth plucked the book from where the lone copy lay propped at the edge of a stack of works by the likes of Edgar Allen Poe, William Shakespeare, and Thomas Hardy. Looking at the book, Brennan made a face.

"Why did you pick *that* one up, Booth? It's not a crime novel, and the author most definitely lived too long ago to be considered a contemporary writer," Brennan said, a tone of keen disapproval evident in her voice.

"Ummm, this book. It was… my mom's favorite," he said quietly, gesturing with the book in his hand. "She… when I was little, she used to read it to me before I went to sleep."

At the mention of his mother, Brennan's eyes softened. Booth hadn't really talked much about his family yet. Brennan knew he had been raised by his widowed grandfather, that he had a younger brother, and that his father was still alive, but that they were estranged. Booth had yet to mention his mother, and from his tone, Brennan inferred she was absent from his life, and had been for some time. "Although I find Jane Austen's writings to be far too emotional for my personal tastes, they've been quite popular with both men and women since their initial publication at the beginning of the nineteenth century."

"She… she loved this book, I think, because of the Wentworth character. I think I still remember her favorite part of the entire book," Booth's voice trailed off as he stopped talking and flipped open the book towards the end. Scanning the pages, he turned a few before he nodded, stopped, and said softly, "Yup. There it is. Wow. I, ah... I still remember it."

Tapping his finger at the appropriate spot on the page, Booth handed the book to Brennan. Slowly, Brennan began to read out loud, "I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own, than when you almost broke it eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone I think and plan.-Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes?-I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice, when they would be lost on others.-Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in F. W. I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter your father's house this evening, or never."

Stopping to take a breath, Brennan said, "Booth?"

"Yeah, Bren?"

"You do realize what the whole point of this passage is, right?" Brennan asked.

"Sure," Booth said. "It's about a man who's been tortured for years because he fell in love with a woman that he couldn't be with when he wanted to be with her, and now, they've finally found each other again in the same place and at the same time, and he's telling her that, more than anything else, if she wants him, he still wants to be with her. It doesn't matter to him everything that's happened between them, all the pain and everything that he's had to suffer because of his feelings for her. She means *that* much to him that he'll do whatever she wants him to do… even if it means leaving her alone, despite how much agony it will put him in to fulfill that promise."

"It *is* very romantic..." Brennan began, a bit of wistfulness coming into her voice.

Booth smirked at her, and Brennan rolled her eyes.

"-in the Romantic *literary tradition*," Brennan said. Stopping to scan another page, after another minute, Brennan said, "Perhaps I misjudged Austen's works? I was unaware she featured such a self-sacrificing male protagonist in any of her writing."

"Do you want me to get it for you?" Booth asked.

Shaking her head, Brennan reached for the book and smiled as she said, "You don't have to. I'll pay for it."

Reaching back for the book, Booth held it firm in one hand as he shifted the stack of crime novels into Brennan's arms. "Here. You get these… and I'll get this one. Deal?"

Smiling, Brennan nodded, "Deal."

* * *

><p>A little white later, Brennan and Booth sat on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial enjoying the crisp and invigorating weather of an unusual cool autumn day in Washington DC. Brennan sat a couple of steps below from where Booth reclined, leaning her right side against where he had his legs bent at a ninety degree angle. He was sipping from an ice coffee while Brennan's latte sat forgotten next to her on the step. Somewhat distracted, Brennan held the Jane Austen book that Booth had bought her as she read it.<p>

"You know," Brennan said, at last breaking the silence that had settled over the pair. "I think this self-sacrificing male protagonist that Austen has crafted as a counterpoint to her female protagonist, Anne Elliot – he reminds me of someone I know."

"Oh?" Booth said, half-distracted by the drowsy and warm haze of the late afternoon sun on his face. "Who's that?"

"Well," Brennan said, snapping the book shut. "Wentworth? He sort of reminds me of you, Booth."

"Me?" Booth chuckled, his reverie now broken and his attention firmly focused on Brennan. "Why's that?"

"Well," Brennan began. "He's a soldier who gained great success because he was good at doing his job. Even though he was a member of the British Navy, and you're a member of the US Army, the parallel is quite interesting. In addition, once he decided that he loved Anne Elliott, despite the plentiful anthropological evidence that contradicts the practice of long-term monogamous relationships, Wentworth's feelings for Anne Elliot never weakened over time. He never forgot her, never stopped loving her. Despite the physical distance and her brutal rejection of him, Wentworth still loved her because she was it for him as far as reaching the epitome of romantic attachment. Now, granted, I don't know as much about you as that, but your comments on the issue seem to indicate that you and Wentworth may have a similar outlook on the subject of romantic attachments. And, so, that combined with the fact that he is tall, muscular, is a brunette and is a hardworking and honorable man…. Well, these are all traits that I believe you have in common with Wentworth."

"Careful, there, Bren, you're making me blush," Booth said, leaning down to kiss her.

"I have several other ideas of how to make you blush, Booth. If mere verbal praise is enough to elicit such a response from you-"

"You'd never have referred to me as a prude, huh?" Booth laughed.

Tilting her head in thought, after a few seconds, Brennan said, "I've never called you a prude, Booth. While you're casual persona in public projects a certain controlled exterior reticence, I've found our encounters in bed to be quite unrestrained, and most definitely not the work of a man who's a prude or puritanical in any way whatsoever."

Looking away, Booth said, "But, I could have sworn... you didn't tease me about sexual inadequacies and being a prude?"

"No-" Brennan said. "I would've remembered something like that."

"Oh," Booth replied. He struggled to wrack his brain. He *knew* Brennan had called him a prude... but, he couldn't remember when or under what circumstances. Shrugging to himself, Booth turning back to look at Brennan with a smile as he said, "I must've imagined it then."

"Mmmm, right," Brennan said, leaning in to kiss him again. "If there's one thing I definitely have no problem saying it's that you are certainly no prude, Booth."

"Uh huh," Booth said, leaning in to meet her once again.

Brennan turned her head to meet his when an exuberant voice suddenly chimed out.

"Sorry to interrupt you folks, but would you like me to take your picture? It's a steal at five dollars, and if you agree, you'd be helping a starving artist who hopes to save enough money to go to art school in Paris one day."

Booth, shading his eyes from the rays of the late afternoon sun, watched as a tall young woman with dark hair, striking almond-shaped eyes, and a bohemian artistic style to her fashion sense – as represented today by a airy white peasant blouse and plain jeans – stop in front of the them her camera posed at the ready. Brennan, curious, looked back at Booth.

"I don't have any photos of the two of us together, Booth, and I think I'd like to have one," Brennan said with a nod.

Nodding his own head in response to Brennan's words, Booth leaned forward and pulled two five dollar bills out of his wallet. He extended them to the young woman and said, "The first five is for the photo. The second one is to make us look good, huh?"

"Oh, sweetie, for an extra five bucks, I guarantee you, it'll not only be good, but great," she promised, quickly pocketing the money.

Pointing to Brennan she said, "Hun, why don't you leave forward a bit, but angle yourself so that your looking not at the camera ,but just past it in that direction?" She gestured with her hand in a vague direction just diagonal from where Brennan sat. Looking up at Booth she said, "And, you, Mr. Studly? I think it would really work if you put your arm around her shoulder, but maybe were looking at her instead of the camera?"

Allowing themselves to be posed, as the last moment, just as the photographer asked them to say 'cheese', Booth tickled Brennan with his free hand. Just as the sound of the camera snapped, Brennan's laughing gaze was caught as she looked directly into the camera while Booth's eyes remained focused intently on the woman in his arms. Brennan shot Booth a mild look of annoyance, but said nothing as they turned back to the photographer.

After a minute, while they waited for the photo to develop, the artist nodded at them and said, "You two are really cute together. How long have you been a couple?"

Booth, unsure what to say, was surprised, when Brennan answered immediately. "We've been dating for not quite three weeks."

"Wow," the photographer replied, the surprise clearly evident in her voice. "I would have been way wrong then."

"Why?" Booth asked, curious.

"Well, I see a lot of people here everyday while I'm working, and usually I can tell a new couple from an old one. I was watching you guys for a few minutes before I came up and offered to take your photo. I would've sworn you guys had known each other for years given your body language and how you were interacting with one another. You've just got this crazy comfortable vibe coming off of the two of you that doesn't really happen until two people gel as a couple after a pretty good chunk of time, you know?" she said.

"People can't gel—" Brennan began.

Raising a hand to cover her mouth and stave off an imminent Brennan verbal diatribe, Booth said with a suave smile, "Thanks."

The photograph at last developed, the artist handed it to Booth with a smile. "Now, did I tell you, or did I tell you? How's that for great?"

Booth looked down at the photograph, even though he already knew what the image would look like. Handing it to Brennan, Booth smiled and said, "You were right. You *do* take a great photograph. Thanks."

"No problem, sweetie. I love what I do, so if I can make a few bucks off of it, that's just frosting on top of the cake." Nodding at Brennan, she said, "Well, I'll let you two get back to whatever it was youall were doing when I interrupted you. But, a word of advice. Hold on to that photo. I promise, one day, it'll be worth something as a one-of-a-kind Angela Montenegro original."

Taking the image, Brennan inserted it into the Jane Austen book and said, "I will. I promise. Thank you."

"You're quite welcome. Take care now," Angela Montenegro said, a genuine smile happy on her face as she nodded once and then turned to walk away, leaving Booth and Brennan alone once more.

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p>

A/N: So, there you are. Some of you asked if Sweets and Angela would be making appearances. Initially, I hadn't planned to, but by special demand of reviewer feedback, Sweets and Angela have made their cameos and done a bit of explaining. I know it's not perfect, but at least it's a start, right? Hope that worked for everyone. :)~


	23. Ch 22: Someone's Stalking Brennan

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

A/N: Okay, ladies and gents. Fair warning. Beginning with this chapter, we begin to reach the climax of this story. So, what does that mean? Ummm, well, simply put... there are some quite unsatisfying ending points for each chapter from here on out - but ones that I hope are satisfying in their unsatisfaction because it means you want to read more, if that makes sense. I apologize in advance, but that's just sorta the way the cookie crumbles. Now, on with the show.~

* * *

><p>Chapter 22 – Someone's Stalking Brennan<p>

* * *

><p>It was just after 4 o'clock in the afternoon, and Hank and Janie Lutrell sat on their couch. Janie was curled up next to her husband, her feet tucked up underneath her. They had flipped on the single local station that played an early newscast in an attempt to beat their competitors for ratings by getting a jump on the five o'clock news rush. Their choice of the news had been a compromise when Hank refused to let Janie turn on Oprah, and Janie refused to watch reruns of SNL just because Hank had some weird and slightly unnatural obsession with Julia Sweeney. However, the pair quickly forgot the news when they saw a dark head of hair continually buzz back and forth in front of the archway that separated the family room from the hall way that led to the kitchen.<p>

"Hmmm," Hank said. "What's that make – trip #6?"

"Seven," Janie corrected him absentmindedly.

"So, you think he's looking for something or wants to talk to us?" Hank said.

"You tell me. Booth's never been the type of guy I'd say that would shy away from just coming up and asking us if he wanted something straight out. If I had to guess, I'd say he was looking for something, not stalling for time because he's trying to figure out how to ask us for something" Janie told her husband.

"Hmmm, doesn't he have another date with the hot Pilgrim doctor soon?" Hank said, glancing at the clock.

Janie swatted his thigh as she said, "Quit that."

"What?"

"Her name is Temperance. Stop referring to her as a Pilgrim," Janie admonished. "If you keep doing that, you'll slip and say it in front of her when Booth actually does finally convince her to meet us, and then I'm going to have to do very bad things to you if you make her feel bad."

"Booth said she's hot. How could *I* make *her* feel bad?" Hank asked.

"Because," Janie said, shifting on the couch. "Calling a woman a Pilgrim means you're either saying she's plain and frumpy or has really bad fashion sense." Tilting her head, Janie smiled, "Now, come on, Hank. Let's practice it to make certain it gets drilled into that thick skulls of yours."

"Nope."

"Come on, Hank. You can do it. Just say it. 'Temperance'."

Shaking his head, Hank said, "No. I still can't do it. The whole Pilgrim-fetish aside, her parents named her after one of the worst social movements in the entirety of human civilization. I'm not doing it, Janie. On mere principle, if nothing else."

"Not a good idea, Hank. Seriously. Cut it out, or I'm going to be very bad," Janie warned him.

Hank chuckled, "And, do what? Paint my toenails with your hot pink polish again?"

"You know," Janie said pointedly. "Most men would be freaked out by that. And, I don't know whether to feel uncomfortable or not with the fact that you weren't."

"Booth said it was a good color on me," Hank smirked.

Shaking her head in exasperation, Janie raised her voice and yelled, "Booth? Would you get in here for a minute please?"

A muffled shuffling was followed by Booth's quick appearance in the family room. He nodded a smile to Janie and Hank by way of greeting. "Hey."

"Hey, Booth," Janie said. "I have a quick question for you."

"Shoot."

"Do you think I need to be concerned because Hank liked it the time I painted his toenails pink when he was sleeping?" Janie asked.

"I dunno, Janie," Booth said, trying to bite back a grin that threatened to break out at the mere mention of the infamous toe nail polish episode. "He did look quite cute when he wore his sandals on the base. The color really brought out his eyes."

"See?" Hank pointed. "Told you!"

Both men then looked at each other, neither one daring to bring up the awkward time when Hank had dragged Booth to the PX trying to find out how in the hell he could get the extremely girly nail polish off his toes before they embarked on a weekend of basic survival drills in the woods of southern Georgia. It was the principle of the thing, male honor binding the friends together, that had made Hank swear Booth to secrecy over the fact of how good Janie's little prank had actually gotten one over on her husband.

"So, anyway, what's up, Booth?" Hank asked.

Tilting his head in confusion, Booth asked, "What do you mean 'what's up'?"

"You've been circling back and forth between here and the kitchen about a dozen times in the last twenty minutes like you're the damn Energizer Bunny. So, spill. What gives?" Hank replied.

"Oh," Booth said, realizing he'd been caught. "I, ah… well, you guy's haven't happened to see a small notebook with a blue cover laying around anywhere, have you?"

Janie, wracking her brain to see if she could remember coming across any such item in her daily travels throughout the house, after a minute, said, "Uh, no, Booth. Off the top of my head, I can't say I have. Where'd you last see it?"

"Ummm, upstairs. I've been keeping it on the nightstand by the bed, but I couldn't find it this morning," Booth said. "I, uh, can't remember exactly, but I think I wrote down some stuff I need to remember to get later, and I'm going nuts looking for the list."

Janie titled her head and replayed her earlier activities in her mind's eye. "I did go up there yesterday afternoon to change the sheets. Maybe it fell or something on accident? It's possible I knocked the nightstand when I was making the bed."

"I looked once behind the nightstand and under the bed, but I didn't see anything," Booth told her. "It couldn't have maybe fallen in with the sheets when you stripped the bed, could it?"

"I don't think so," Janie said slowly. "I put on the laundry pretty soon after I changed the sheets, so I think I would've seen it if it had fallen in the basket with them when I put the stuff into the washer."

"Oh, okay," Booth said, with a shrug. "I guess I'll go back upstairs and check again underneath the bed, just to be on the safe side."

Shaking his head, Hank said, "Sorry, Booth. If Janie hasn't seen it, the underpants gnomes probably carried it off." He smirked at his own joke. Turning to look at his friend, Hank said, "What stuff did you need to get?"

"Honestly?" Booth said, not completely lying. "It was a list of stuff I forgot back at Benning, and things I wanted to get replacements for before we leave next month."

"Such as?"

Booth shrugged. He knew he had started to make several lists in the notebook. And, and he'd made several notes as well that he read everyday. It' just, the exact details of what was in the notes and the lists had started to fade from his mind. Thus, Booth wasn't being completely untruthful when he said, "Oh, just random stuff." Booth quirked his head and then said, for some completely and random reason he couldn't explain, "Honestly, though, the thing I think I miss having the most is my sidearm. I really feel… well, kinda naked without it."

Hank shot his wife a look, and Janie blushed a bit. He playfully jabbed her in the side as he told his friend, "Thanks a lot, Booth. As if it's bad enough that I don't have to compete with that douchebag Leo DiCaprio since that goddamn Titanic movie came out last winter, now images of your buff butt are going to be dancing in Janie's head. Great."

Booth, knowing his friend was teasing him, said, "Well, if I were married to an ugly guy like you I'd be fantasizing about Leo DiCaprio, too."

"Ohhhh!" Hank said. "I knew it. Don't ask, don't tell my ass…."

At this, Janie did jab her elbow into Hank's stomach. She shot him a look, and Hank frowned as he struggled for breath.

"Oooofff!" Hank groaned. Looking up at Janie and rubbing his side, Hank asked, "Hey... what?"

"Stop that. Right now," Janie said.

"Oh, ease up, Janie. Booth knows I'm just playing with him." Looking up at his friend, Hank said, "You know, even though I know you're a cheap SOB, one of these days you need to fork out the money and by your own piece besides that damn sniper rifle of yours. I mean, it's not like you don't have the concealed weapons permit to carry anyway—"

"You're right," Booth said, a strange look coming onto his face.

Hank recognized the shift in his friend's mood, and said, "But, this isn't just about not having your gun, is it? There's a specific reason why you feel that way, isn't it?"

At Hank's words, another random thought popped into his head, and he felt a bit of relief as he recalled the conversation with Brennan a couple of days before.

_Stires_, Booth thought. _Right, Stires._

Hank observed Booth's quick mental processes, and when his friend still hadn't said anything, prodded, "What's wrong, Booth?"

Waving him off, Booth said, "It's, uh, nothing. Just… Bren's old boyfriend has been giving her some shit lately, and I'm worried about her."

"What type of shit?" Hank asked.

Booth shrugged. "He showed up a few days ago wanting another go with her, and she told him to get lost. He didn't take that very well. They broke up months ago, but apparently, he won't take 'no' for an answer."

"Is he the crazy kind?" Hank asked.

Booth shrugged. "Probably. I mean, I know you guys haven't met Bren yet, but once you do, you'll see. Any guy who walks away from that, or screws up enough to make her walk away from him, is both stupid and nuts."

"Did she call the police?" Janie asked. "Maybe she should see if she could file for a restraining order?"

"We talked about that," Booth admitted. "But, even still, I don't know how much good something like that would do. And, well, I know I can do just about whatever I need to do to protect her if I'm around, but… well, I'd just feel better if I had my gun, that's all."

Sighing, Hank reached into his pocket and removed a key from his larger key ring. Tossing it to Booth, who caught it with a smart snap in mid-air, Hank said, "Lucky for you, I'm not cheap. Take what you want. You know where I keep them. Just keep you cotton-picking hands off the Beretta. No one touches Bessie but me."

Laughing, Booth nodded, already knowing in his mind's eye which one of Hank's guns he wanted, and had wanted, since he began pacing in front of his host's peripheral gaze. While it was true that Booth had misplaced his notebook, and he woke up that morning annoyed when he couldn't find it, but less so as the morning wore on because he couldn't remember exactly what he had written in it that he needed to remember. However, procuring access to Hank's gun locker had stuck in his mind as a preeminent goal for Booth, and, now, holding the key, and having been reminded of Stires by Hank's accidental prompting, Booth felt, much, *much* better. Nodding his thanks to his friends, Booth walked to Hank's office, unlocked the gun safe, and breathed a sigh of relief when his hands wrapped around a 9mm and its matching clip.

Although he couldn't explain it, had no real rational reason, Booth's gut told him he was doing something important in doing this, in taking the gun from Hank. He felt a flush of warmth reinforce his gut feeling. Booth had no logical explanation as to why he suddenly felt so much better. It felt right, though- very. very, *very* right, as if Booth had suddenly done something that he had forgotten, but stumbled onto it anyway by accident. It was a good feeling, Booth realized. Yes, this was a good thing, even if he couldn't say why because, as he tested the weight of the gun in his hand, Booth suddenly felt like he could do anything... even change the world.

* * *

><p>Dr. Temperance Brennan sat at her desk in her office. Another bouquet of red roses, the third one that now graced her desk, stared back at her in the face, almost as if taunting her.<p>

Picking up the phone, Brennan dialed the number of the Jeffersonian's front desk. "Yes, this is Dr. Brennan in the Medico-Legal Lab. I'm just calling to confirm that you received the email notification that, under no circumstances whatsoever, are you to accept any more deliveries on my behalf, especially flowers. Yes, that's right. And, if you see Dr. Stires on the premises, please make certain he's not allowed access to the lab. Yes, yes. Thank you. Good. I very much appreciate it. Thank you. Goodbye."

Placing the phone back in the cradle, Brennan shook her head and wondered who she could palm off the roses to now. She really hated them, and just wanted them gone. Looking around, Brennan thought that maybe Hodgins could use them for some type of experiment?

A ping from her computer suddenly garnered her attention. Brennan grabbed her mouse and groaned again as she saw another message flashing in her inbox.

_From: Stires, Dr. Michael_

_Subject: I'm Sorry. So, So Sorry. Please Talk to Me?_

It was the almost the dozenth email Brennan had received from Michael in just the past couple of days. She immediately deleted it, not even bothering to open the message. Since Michael had stalked out of her office several days earlier, Brennan had been fending off his incessant phone calls, tiresome voicemail messages, and annoying emails. She knew she would have to confront him again soon if he didn't want to take an obvious hint that Brennan didn't want to see him anymore, but in the euphoric post-coital daze of the new aspect to her relationship with Booth, Michael Stires was really the last person she wanted to see or think about. Brennan smiled a smile that she quickly knew was becoming one that she only smiled when she thought of Booth. Shaking her head at the emotional response he elicited from her at the mere thought of his person, Brennan was annoyed again when her office phone rang and interrupted her reverie.

Looking at the phone, Brennan half-expected it to be Michael again, but stopped, surprise evident on her voice as Brennan smiled a different type of smile as she recognized the phone number and caller.

Reaching for the phone, Brennan said happily, "Hey, Joanna! Yeah, it's me, Tempe. No, no… now's as good a time as any. Sure, sure… I can talk. Yeah… I'm good. Great, in fact. I, ah… you're timing's perfect. I've actually got something that I want to tell you about because I think I could use some advice. Yes. No, it doesn't have anything to do with Michael. Ugggh. Don't get me started. I don't want to talk about him. Not now, not ever again. Well, yes, but wait... What do you mean have I finally come to my senses? I've never not- Oh, okay. Well, in that case, I agree. You're right. I said, you're right. Dating Michael and putting up with him *were* two of the biggest mistakes I've ever made in my entire life. Yes, I can repeat that. You're right, Joanna. No, no. Now, stop that. It's not funny. No, I haven't been replaced by an extraterrestrial. No. No. I just... I might've met someone, Joanna. Yes, I did. I said I met someone. That's right. Someone as in not Michael. He's, uh... he's great. Oh, ummmmm... the thing I like best about him? Well, at first... honestly? It was his smile. He's got this *great* smile—"

* * *

><p>A few days after Brennan had talked with her friend Joanna from Chicago, she found herself feeling a bit better about the entire Michael Stires situation. In the past day or two, his repeated telephone calls, voicemails, and emails had actually lightened up. Come to think of it, Brennan thought, she hadn't actually received a single attempt at communication from him at all in the past thirty-six hours. Brennan, no doubt because of Booth's influence, she thought wryly, felt a bit optimistic that maybe Michael was *finally* getting the message. Maybe… just maybe, things were going to work out after all *without* Brennan having to confront him.<p>

It was just after dinner time, the night before Halloween, and Brennan sat next to Booth on the couch. The television, at Booth's insistence, had been turned to Comedy Central where the pair were now watching an encore repeat of the new Halloween episode that South Park had aired a few days earlier.

"See, this part is awesome," Booth said, as he sat with his legs propped up on the coffee table, and Brennan pulled tightly against him with his left arm hanging around her shoulder.

Frowning a bit, as she watched a small child being terrorized at night by an innocent looking Cyprinidae, Brennan looked to Booth and said, "I still don't understand the humor, here, Booth."

Turning his head to her, Booth said, "Well, which part?"

"Aside from the fact that I don't see the humor in the psychological trauma being inflicted on a prepubescent male that could severely stunt his normal mental development, it would be physically impossible for a Cyprinidae to make his bowl fog up since he has no lungs, and further more, most research agrees that since such fish only have seven second memories, it's unrealistic that such an animal would be able to develop the linguistic skills possible to interact with humans—" Brennan said.

"Bren," Booth interrupted her. "That's part of why it's funny. How could a two-inch fish become a mass murderer?"

Considering his words for a minute, Brennan tilted her head and said, "So, this is humorous because it's a form of satire? It's so absurd is its unrealism that its funny?"

"Uhhhh, I guess," Booth said. "I mean, I haven't really thought about why it's funny. It just is… I mean, I know you don't get most of the pop cultural stuff, but the writers are actually using some really great stuff here. There's everything here from cracking on Barbara Streisand in Spooky-vision to _Pet Semetary _and _Star Trek_."

"Well, the quantum physics theorists posit that the so-called 'evil' parallel universe referenced here, it's members noted somewhat strangely by facial hair, does have some fascinating potential ramifications, I agree, but—"

"Nah uh, Bren," Booth said, shaking his head. "You are not squitifying South Park. That's not hellacool."

Shifting a bit, Brennan said, "Please tell me you aren't going to go around like the obnoxiously obese child mimicking trite slogans."

"Hey, Cartman is hellacool, Bren," Booth laughed. "And, if you don't like it, well then 'screw you guys, I'm going home.'"

Brennan shook her head with a knowing smile. "No, you're not."

"Oh, really?" Booth said. "And, how do you know that?"

"Because," Brennan said. "I just do."

"A gut feeling?" Booth asked.

"Maybe," Brennan said.

"Tell me," Booth insisted.

"No," Brennan said, her eyes narrowing in mischief. "Make me."

"Oh, okay," Booth said, reacting very quickly as he wrapped both around her. "*That* I can definitely do."

His hands snaking up under her arms, Booth began lightly to tickle Brennan who immediately started to squirm in his arms.

"Don't you dare, Booth!" Brennan said through stifled laughs. "You know I hate being tickled."

"Not my problem, Bren," Booth said, tickling her again. "You dared me. That means, you deal with the repercussions of the fact that a Booth never lets such a challenge go unanswered."

Brennan giggled again. "Oh, stop it!" She laughed, starting to become short on breath. "Booth—please, come on!" He tickled her again, and in her squirmings, they suddenly shifted from a sitting position to one of a bit more horizontal nature on the couch.

Looking down into Brennan's sparkling eyes, Booth suddenly leaned down and kissed her. Brennan raised her hands to wrap them around his neck as she arched up into the kiss. Their actions soon became a bit frenzied as the last coherent thought that Booth had was that *this* was definitely hellagood.

* * *

><p>Michael didn't really like having to resort to this, but he knew he didn't really have any other choice. He'd spent the past week in DC, much longer than he had anticipated being there, trying to get Brennan to talk to him since the day she had kicked him out of her office at the Jeffersonian. Stires didn't like it when things didn't go according to his plan. He'd had to cancel some of his classes, and rely on his graduate assistant to smooth things over with some of the departmental paperwork. It would be one thing if he had made progress over the past week during the time he had missed doing what he needed to be doing in Chicago. But, thus far, he was still exactly where he'd been on the first day he'd seen Brennan. Despite his repeated telephone calls and voicemail messages, various emails, and the numerous flower bouquets he'd sent to Brennan, she hadn't responded once… not a single response from any of his overtures. Thus, she really hadn't left him any other choice. Michael knew if he could just *talk* to her, in private, when Brennan couldn't resort to having the Jeffersonian's guards do her dirty work and throw him out if she got angry with him again, he knew he could get her to see things his way. Michael knew it. He could get Brennan to come around… he always had, and he always would.<p>

Thus, it was with only a very, very small twinge of guilt that Michael took out his key, the key that Brennan had given him six months earlier, just after she moved in, when the pair thought they still might formally reconcile. Or, at least, when Michael had as he had guilted Brennan into giving it to him. It happened to be the same key to the lock of the front door of her apartment. Michael had already verified with the doorman, who slightly recognized Michael from previous visits, that, yes, Brennan was home. Michael confirmed that fact after his initial assumption had been Brennan was in residence when he saw her car was parked in the same spot in which Brennan almost always parked. He chuckled at that. Her routine, the fact that Brennan derived satisfaction from stability and a fear of change, had always been helpful to him since she was a creature of habit. It's easier to manipulate someone when you know how and why they're going to act. That was why Michael *knew* he could get through her, if he just had a few minutes alone to speak with Brennan.

All of these thoughts were playing in Michael's head when he put the key in the front door's lock, quietly unlocked the door, and turned the door's knob. Letting himself in, not quite certain where Brennan would be, Michael tried to be as quiet as he could so that he could surprise her. However, it was Michael who was the one who was surprised when he entered the darkened entry way. Moving very, very slowly, and very, very quietly in the direction of her family room, Stires didn't have to go more than a few steps before he stopped dead in his tracks.

He heard them before he actually saw them.

Moans.

He heard someone moaning… a female, and immediately, Stires knew it was Brennan. She was moaning, this half-sigh, half-involuntary throaty chuckle that seemed to be continually elicited in response to whatever action kept happened to her, as she repeatedly made the sound. Each time was a little more loud, each time was a little more intense. The sound made Stires nauseous. He wanted to vomit. But, like onlookers driving by a bad accident on the highway, Stires couldn't help himself. He had to slow down and stop; he *had* to look. He had to know. He had to see. He had to know for certain. After all, this was Tempe… *his* Tempe. Why would she be doing anything with anyone that would result in *those* sounds? She was *his*, and since Brennan wasn't with him, Stires couldn't logically reason why it was Brennan who might've been making those sounds despite the auditory evidence that told him it *was* her voice he was hearing.

Creeping forward a bit, Stires stepped quietly in the direction from which the sounds were coming in the family room. The couch… they were on the couch. Stires stopped immediately when he heard Brennan call out again, this time, neither a moan nor a groan, but a breathy name. Stires couldn't make it out as he stood transfixed by what he saw. The back of the couch hid most of the sight from view, but a hand, a pale creamy white female hand deliciously shot up and over the edge of the back of the couch. Stires felt his stomach clench. It was a feminine arm. There could be no doubting that. And, then, another move, another shift of the couch springs, and Stires heard it again. The female voice called another name out, passionately, a loud whisper sighed contentedly… and in a way Stires would have sold his soul to hear Brennan speak if it had only been *his* name she was calling. The calling of the name was followed by a small, low chuckle and the sound of a more masculine response answering the female's earlier taunt.

Transfixed, Stires stood watching as suddenly a masculine head shot up from over the edge of the couch. From what Stires could see, the male was a brunette, and from what was visible of his upper torso, he was obviously unclothed and well muscled. But, worst of all, he was covered in perspiration and wore a lover's smile as he looked down at who Stires *knew* now, beyond all shadow of a doubt, *was* Brennan. Yes, it was Tempe who was underneath the man on the couch. Almost in mocking Stires' realization, the male head disappeared, lowered to Brennan's, no doubt, as she cried out an extremely loud and incoherent exclamation of release, which, after two or three more masculine grunts was followed by a single word that pierced Michael Stires to his very core.

"Bren-"

And, in that moment, the single familiar but alien word seeming to summarize everything that had happened, changed, so fast and so far in a deviation from Stires' plan. And, in that minute, Dr. Michael Stires knew he had lost, and that realization finally made him snap, once and for all. Brennan… she was gone. He'd never get her back now. She'd betrayed him… and Stires had lost. But, he couldn't lose. He couldn't lose, not now, and not Tempe. Repeatedly shaking his head in denial, fists clinched in rage, a blinding hot anger flowed into Stires' very being. Literally seeing red, Stires knew he needed to retreat, just for a little bit. He needed just a few moments to calm down and collect his thoughts and figure out what to do next. Regroup, that was it. He needed to catch his breath, think things through, and figure out what to do next. He was a genius, after all. There was a solution here, an appropriate solution. He just had to find it. Slowly, quietly, and without a single sound being made, Michael retraced his steps to the front door, and let himself out in a daze. No one would even know he had ever been there unless he told them.

No one.

That's what he was now, wasn't it? A no one. A loser. Rejected. Sad. A nobody.

Those thoughts were suddenly too much for him to bear.

How could a man like him let a woman like Brennan do this to him? He couldn't, Stires immediately decided. It just wasn't possible. He was so much better than her, he was so much more important, that Stires knew she couldn't get away with doing this to him. And, then, another thought entered Stires' warped and twisted brain.

Somehow, someway, he would fix this, and she would pay. Brennan would pay for making him feel like this, for making the wrong choice. She would pay, and Stires would feel better, come out on the opposite side of this entire thing a winner. Temperance Brennan wouldn't get the better of him because, Stires knew in that moment, that if he couldn't have Tempe, than no one would. She was *his*… not anyone else's. She couldn't just choose who and when and how to give herself to another man if it wasn't Stires… and, well, if Brennan refused to acknowledge that, then she'd made her choice – and it was the wrong one, and she'd have to be made aware of the consequences of her actions. Yes, if Stires couldn't have her than *no one* would.

And, as if he'd had a miraculous epiphany, Stires suddenly knew what he had to do and felt much, *much* better about the entire situation. She'd betrayed him. She'd taken everything he'd ever given her, the ungrateful bitch, everything he'd ever sacrificed to make her the woman she was today, to get her where she was in the world of anthropology and academia, and thrown it back in his face. She rejected him, and she'd broken his heart. But, more than anything, she'd betrayed him. And, for that alone, Stires knew – she had to die. Dr. Temperance Brennan had to die, and he'd been the one to ensure it happened… sooner rather than later.

Much sooner.

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	24. Ch 23: Keeping Brennan from Becoming

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

A/N: Thanks to everyone for the amazing feedback. The reviews and PMs have been so gratifying to me that so many people are excited to see where this fic is going. It really means a lot. As to this chapter, fair warning, this chapter gets just a *tad* intense in as far as Stires losing it and trying to kill Brennan. It's as muted as possible, but, well, yeah. Stires is crazy, and he's trying to murder someone. There's just no way to make that less intense than it is here , as such violence is violence - although I did try - but for those to whom such violent images are unsettling (and rightly so), fair warning.

* * *

><p>Chapter 23 – Keeping Brennan from Becoming the Bones<p>

* * *

><p>He wasn't sure how long after he left Brennan's apartment that it actually happened, but when Booth suddenly came to, one thing that he did know for certain was that his head was throbbing. Badly. The type of throbbing that he hadn't experienced since the drunken bender of celebration that he had gone on when he completed basic and earned his place in the sniper training program in the Rangers. As a matter a fact, he couldn't recall even the worst hangover he'd ever had had ever hurt quite *this* much. As Booth's random thoughts struggled to find some coherent order in themselves, he made a mistake of opening his eyelids just a crack and mentally howled. <em>Oww. Owww. Owww. Damn. Mistake, Booth, big mistake, <em>he thought. _Wow... that hurts. That really, really hurts._

It was a battle to keep his eyes open as the pain was overwhelming. However, knowing he couldn't just stay lying wherever he was, prone and inert forever, Booth knew he didn't really have any choice in the matter. So, reluctantly, he steeled himself to try to deal with the pain and open his eyes again. Still, each time he cracked one even a mere millimeter of distance in the open position, he started to regret it instantly. It hurt, hurt badly. Each time he forced his eye lids to open up, swirls of lights assaulted his irises, and the pain was so excruciating that he began to realize he was on sensory overload. Booth's brain simple refused to cooperate as the visual assault short circuited his mental processes, and he couldn't focus on the images in front of him. The world kept spinning in a bright blob of randomly shifting colors, moving faster and faster in front of him each time he tried harder to concentrate on bringing just one single image, out of the vast multitudes, into focus. Forcing himself to focus on steadying his breathing, Booth made himself to take several deep breaths as he let his eyes close for just a second, and he gathered his bearings.

_Okay, Booth. Focus. You need to focus here. But, I'm tired_, the stray thought suddenly interjected itself into his pep talk. _So damn tired... But, wait. Why am I so tired? I shouldn't be this tired, right? Enough. Come on, Booth. You need to focus._

In, out. In, out. In, out.

A yawn. He felt that. He had almost yawned. Still uncertain why this overpowering fatigue was affecting him so much, as Booth had to stifle another yawn, Booth knew that the sleepiness was really starting to annoy him. He hadn't been this tired before… _Before what, exactly?_ Booth thought. _Before what? What in the hell happened to me?_

In, out. In, out. In, out. _Okay, one problem at a time. Open eyes first, logical explanations later. So, breathe_, Booth thought to himself. _Just breathe._

After a few more minutes, feeling a certain renewed optimism in his current ability to achieve his goal, Booth again tried to open his eyes. This time, when he cracked open his right eyelid, just a little bit, the images still continued to swirl in front of him, far away and out of focus. However, the pain wasn't quite so intense as the light hit his eyes this time, and it heartened Booth. He was right. _I can do this_, Booth thought. _Just a little bit more. Almost there. Just a little bit more._

He shut his eyelid again, and Booth concentrated on pooling his strength, as he forced himself to draw in measured breath after measured breath. In, out. In, out. In, out.

The pattern of his breathing suddenly was interrupted by the rational portion of his brain that was struggling to take control once more. _What happened?_ Booth thought. _Why is this so hard? What happened to me, and why can't I remember it?_ However, such thoughts distracted him from his primary goal, and another part of his brain snapped at Booth. _Enough! Not now. Deal with that later. Come on, Booth, focus! Just focus. Breathe. Just breathe! Focus and breathe._

After a little bit longer, Booth felt strong enough to try once more, hoping his condition had once again improved. He felt validated when, this time, he dared to crack both of his eye lids open just a tiny bit, and Booth didn't immediately pass out from the pain. While the imagery was still very vague, Booth knew he was getting closer to achieving his goal. _Okay_, Booth told himself. _Eyelids open. Now, time to see what it is I'm actually seeing, Booth. Come on. Let's do this._ Choosing one spot of the massive red and brown swirls dancing in front of him, moving like the amorphous blobs of wax in a lava lamp that had been on too long, Booth took all his energy and will as he concentrated on bringing that one spot into focus. He begin to feel frustration mount as the colors initially refused to start to shift into patterns that made any recognizable sense.

_Come on! _Booth complained to himself. _Don't give up now. Do this!_

And, staring at the spot with all his intense efforts, at last, slowly, the image swirling in front of him finally began to come into a murky haze of focus, although after what span of time he couldn't exactly say. _Bingo! Now *that's* what I'm talking about. Yeah, baby! All right! _It took Booth a minute for his brain to focus on what he was seeing, but, eventually, the image, dim in the late night's darkness, suddenly made sense. _A brick? What the hell? A brick?_

Reddish-brown brick. Dirty grayish-white mortar. A wall of bricks. Booth was staring at a wall of bricks. His head, laying parallel to the brick wall, didn't look familiar.

_Where am I?_ Booth wondered. _Bricks?_

A new sensation suddenly grabbed his attention as a ripple of the evening's cold air cut across the exposed part of his face. Booth winced at the chill.

_Cold_. _Breeze? No, not a breeze. Stronger than that. Wind? What in the hell happened?_

Once his vision had come back into focus, Booth's brain was still struggling to make sense of what he was seeing and feeling. Bricks. Cold. Outside. He was outside, but where? Forcing his head up, Booth fought back a wave of nausea, as his eyes glanced at the sky. _Stars. Why am I seeing stars? None of this makes any damn sense. Stars? What...? How...? Stars?_

Booth was seeing stars, he finally accepted the fact. *Actual* stars, as in the kind that went twinkle, twinkle - not figurative stars, although, from the dull ache that was pounding in his head, becoming more and more pronounced the longer he was awake and the more conscious he became, Booth knew that if he was outside and could see the stars, he had to be up somewhere high. The burst of logical inspiration pleased him immensely. Then, an unexpected hiss of steam caught his attention, drawing his focus to the left.

A pipe. He saw a pipe. And steam. Pipes… steam… bricks… outside… stars.

_The roof._

Suddenly, the idea made a lot of sense.

_The roof_, Booth thought. _I'm on a roof. But, how in the hell did I get up here? What am I doing on the roof? What roof? _He stopped that line of thought for a moment, the pain starting to grate on him again. _God, my head hurts. Tylenol. I need some Tylenol or something. Maybe Bren has some-? _Again, Booth felt a yawn at that. _Sleepy. So tired. Why am I so tired again?_

His eyes started to droop just a bit. _Tired. I just need a sec. Sleepy. So, so sleepy._

"Seeley!"

The impatient and frantic whisper came on the wind. Booth's eyes reluctantly opened, more from habit and a response that had been conditioned over many years of answering such a call than any conscious choice on Booth's part. He *knew* that voice.

"Seeley!"

_So tired_, Booth thought. _Sleepy, so sleepy._

"Up, Seeley! Now!"

_Just a minute more, Ma, _Booth thought. _I'm coming. I'm just so damn tired._

"Seeley! Up! Now! You've got to move now! You're running out of time."

_Out of time? Wait... Bren? Out of time? Brennan?_

"Bren?" Booth groaned.

"Now, Seeley! She needs you. Now! Go now!"

_But, no. Bren? Stires? It's... it's- no, it's not right. She can't need me yet. It's not time. This doesn't happen until Halloween. It wasn't supposed to be tonight. They found her on Halloween-_

"Up!" the whisper came again. "It *is* Halloween. It became the 31st as soon as it was midnight. Now, go, Seeley. Right now! Protect her! Save her!"

_Oh, God. Bren-_

The words jolted Booth forward and spurred him into action, the adrenaline flooding his blood stream with a new sense of purpose and renewed focus. Squeezing his eyes shut, Booth forced his arms and legs to move. Somehow, someway, Booth knew he had to move.

"Bren!" he thought he cried out, but in reality, his choked sob came out as a small and strangled whisper.

Unfortunately, the harder he tried to make his body move, the less of an actual physical response he actually got. Pain flooded every single nerve ending he had, particularly those in his head. It was just too much. Still, Booth persisted. He didn't have a choice. He had to- he had to try.

_Move, Booth. Got to move_, he thought. _Come on. Bren, she needs you. Now. Move, Booth. Move-_

Focusing all his energy, Booth tried to roll over, but in actuality only managed to shift a couple of inches as an involuntary moan escaped his lips.

"Move, Seeley! You're running out of time—" the whisper pleaded with him again. "Try harder. Please try harder. She needs you. Move!"

_Oh, God… please. Please, please help. Holy Mother, please… Oh, please help me. Please… Bren!_

* * *

><p>If Michael Stires had any qualms or feelings of guilt about what he had done, and about what he was planning to do, they quickly disappeared when he glanced through the doorway of Brennan's bedroom and saw her sitting at her vanity. Clad in a short black silk robe, Brennan was brushing her hair and singing softly to herself. Stires felt a surge of animalistic rage as, even from where he stood hidden in the shadows, he could see her happy smile and the flushed, ruddy glow of her skin tone that women only achieved in the satisfied haze of post-coital bliss. His hand tightened around the tack hammer he held in his hands, his initial decision merely reaffirmed by the site of her so happy, and not at all because of him. How dare she? She would pay. Brennan would pay, and then Stires wouldn't feel so badly anymore. One movement, one quick movement, one swing at her the base of her skull, targeting the suture between the occipital and parietal bones, and it'd be over. He was right, she was wrong, and it was time that she acknowledged that fact.<p>

_Fast and painless,_ Stires thought, though. As Brennan hummed to herself, Stires still couldn't help but feel a tenderness towards her. This *was* Tempe, after all. She wouldn't feel any pain. He was pleased by that notion. Even if she had betrayed him, he still loved Tempe. She *had* been his for a time… and, she didn't deserve to suffer. He wasn't a monster, after all, Stires rationalized. But, then he glanced at her as she ran the brush through her auburn hair, realized that he would never again be able to run his fingers through its silky softness, and was reminded of why he had to do this in the first place. Brennan had brought this on herself. She had committed a transgression, and she would be punished. But, even still, another part of Stires told himself, that didn't mean he wasn't merciful. _I'm the better man. I'm showing her mercy, and it's more than she deserves_, Stires thought.

Taking a step forward into the room, Stires started to move as he had originally planned. He raised his hand to strike the blow, when Brennan suddenly called out, apparently hearing Stires' muffled footfall on the apartment's floor.

"Booth?"

Stires stumbled at the single word, Brennan calling out a single name, so innocent, so hopeful… and it wasn't *his* name.

"Booth?" Brennan called again, still brushing her hair as she remained seated at the vanity, but hadn't actually turned around yet. "Hey, come here. Did you finally remember that you left Hank's—"

As Brennan continued to call out to her lover, Stires saw red, and immediately thoughts of mercy flew out his head as felt rage overwhelm him and fuel his actions. However, the split second of surprise that Stires had felt when Brennan called out Booth's name was enough. When he shifted again, his anger making any attempts at stealth disappear, as Stires positioned himself to strike a harder and more ruthless blow, Brennan glanced up in the mirror and screamed. She managed to shift her head slightly to the left in response, and Stires cursed as he realized that he hadn't hit her in the exact position he wanted when the hammer came down onto the back of her head. It grazed the side of her temple instead of the base where it would have instantly killed her. Although she wasn't dead as Stires had immediately plan, the blow was enough to stun Brennan, who instantly fell off of the vanity's bench and to the ground. Moaning piteously, she struggled to roll over to get her footing. As she flopped on the ground, Stires walked over and looked down at her in disgust.

"I told you," he said, shaking his head. "I warned you, didn't I,Tempe? I told you I'd be back. I told you we weren't done with this conversation—"

"Michael…" Brennan moaned. She shook her head, looking up at him, the fear clear in her eyes as she pleaded, "Stop—"

"You stupid, stupid, whore," Stires spat at her. He lifted the hammer in the air, poised to strike again, but stayed his hand as he confessed to her. "I loved you. I loved you, and if it weren't for me, you wouldn't be what you are today, who you are today. How could you just throw everything we had away like that, Tempe? I *loved* you—"

"No," Brennan muttered, a bit of anger cutting throw the stunned haze that had settled over her once Stires had hit her in the head. "You don't know the meaning of love, Michael. You're not capable—"

Brennan suddenly screamed again, as Stires quickly drew back his hand and tried to levy the hammer at her skull once more. However, Brennan was not as impaired as Stires had apparently thought. Somehow, some way, Brennan's leg shot up, and landed a blow towards his crotch in fairly quick order. Michael bent over in pain, dropping the hammer. Brennan scrambled to get to her feet to try and get to the weapon. She actually managed to get upright, which somewhat amazed her. However, whatever adrenaline had allowed her to conduct such a move soon puttered out, and Brennan immediately felt dizziness wash over her, causing her to stumble. She barely managed to collapse on the bed. Stires, who was breathing heavily, suddenly stood up straight. He looked at where Brennan had fallen on the bed, where she lay staring at the ceiling, breathing shallowing and in short, rapid bursts. Seeing such a strong woman felled because of his actions, because of him, it made Stires feel quite good. And, then he noticed the black robe again, and further enraged than he had ever been-his forgotten anger remembered, Stires suddenly turned on Brennan and took a step towards the bed. Pulling her up with one hand, Stires used the other to slap her across the face as hard as he could. Her head reverberated back and forth at the motion, and it made Stires feel powerful, so powerful, as he watched Brennan whimper in response as she fell back onto the bed.

"You stupid, stupid bitch!" Stires spat. "I warned you, didn't' I? I warned you!"

Yanking her back with both his hands, Stires grabbed Brennan by the shoulders, Stires spotted the small protrusion of the wooden edge of the bed's foot board. Yanking her off the bed, Stires threw Brennan forward, targeting her skull in the direction of the foot board's hard edge. He rammed her skull once, and felt a surge of gratification when he heard her call out his name in desperation. He didn't pay attention to her calls to stop. No, he continued to do it, again, pulling pack and ramming her body forward again twice more. Each time he did so, Brennan let out a strangulated moan. The sound was so sweet to Stires' ears. It was like the purest music he had ever heard. Each sound she made empowered him, and Stires thought ironically, it pleased him to know that Brennan was at last moaning because of *him*. On the third time, he heard her cry out in one final choked, strangled groan. She had also stopped struggling. Blood had started to pour from her head, and Stires felt quite pleased with his handiwork. He dropped her body with a satisfying thud, and stood tall and straight and proud, feeling more manly and strong and satisfied than he had ever felt before.

Yes, all was good and right with the world as far as Dr. Michael Stires was concerned. Then, suddenly, a splintering of wood and a series of unfamiliar sharp sounds drew Stires' attention towards the bedroom door. Stires' vision focused on the tall pillar of calm controlled white-hot fury that made his anger seem pale in comparison. Booth, Hank's 9mm aimed directly at Stires head, never blinked as he merely waited the two seconds necessary for Stires to realize who he was, what was happening, and why it was occurring before he pulled the trigger, and, in a sharp burst of final pain, Stires' world suddenly went dark.

* * *

><p>As he had often claimed, Booth only needed one shot – and, seeing Stires standing as he had, Booth, even more so than usual, had had every reason to make it count - and he done just that. The oppressive atmosphere of the bedroom was shattered by the sound of the gun shot cracking through the air, Booth watched in grim satisfaction as Stires fell to the ground instantaneously, a spatter of blood falling back as he went down. But, Booth didn't care enough to linger on his morbid feelings of satisfaction as he raced to where Brennan's inert form lay crumpled on the floor on her side of the bed.<p>

"Bren!"

Somewhere in the distance, Booth's mind faintly registered the wail of sirens. However, the world ceased to exist beyond the small and frail form that he rushed to kneel downside and gently pulled her towards him.

"Oh, God, Brennan!"

_Blood, _Booth thought, as he turned over as carefully as he could. _Oh, God, Bren. There's too much blood._

Looking down, Booth felt his hands begin to shake as he saw Brennan's head hanging oddly to one side, limp like a rag doll. She didn't so much as moan in response to his movements. Silent and bleeding, Booth felt his stomach fall hard and fast into a bottomless chasm.

_Oh, God. I'm too late. Bren, oh, God. Bren, please. _Booth stopped his panic as he let his training take over. _Focus, Booth, focus_, he thought to himself. _Focus. She's still alive. But, blood. There's too much blood. Blood, oh God, I've got to stop the bleeding._

His eyes darting around, Booth quickly saw one of the lavender colored bed sheets hanging over the edge of the bed. Booth twisted his body to grab the edge of it with his free hand and pulled it toward him. He bunched it up as best he could as he gently rolled Brennan's head towards him. Booth winced as he started to feel the sticky warmth of Brennan's very life force ooze out of her. The metallic tang of the blood tickled his nostrils. The sensation wasn't anything new to him, but as he felt Brennan's blood wash over his hands while he pressed the cloth to her temple, Booth felt a renewed wave panic wash over him, and so he did what he often did when faced with such pivotal moments of life and death throughout his experiences - he prayed.

_Holy Mother, please. Please don't take her away from me now. Oh, God. Please. I can't—I can't lose her. I can't lose her again. Please, Holy Mother, help me. Help us. Please... *please*._

Firmly holding the sheet to her temple, Booth finally noticed that while she was unresponsive to his actions, a very faint and shallow breath rattled in her chest. Although Booth didn't have any free hands to check for a pulse, he knew she was still alive. Perhaps only hanging on by a thread as fine as a spider-web, but still alive.

"Bren, please," Booth whispered to her, reassuring her, begging her. "I'm here. God, please… hold on, Bren. Please hold on, help's almost here, baby. I promise. Please, hold on—"

Clutching her tightly to his chest, Booth didn't realize it when he felt a warmth flow down his cheeks as he had started to cry at some point.

"Please," he whispered to her, tears falling down his cheeks and onto Brennan's unresponsive face. "Please, Bren. Don't go. Don't leave me. Please—"

As he sat there, holding Brennan's unconscious form, the warmth of her blood covering both of them, Booth rocking them slowly as he waited for the ambulance and EMTs, he started to pray as a series of images flowed through his mind:

_Hail Mary, Full of Grace_

—Brennan, in a blue lab coat, her nose upturned as she held a brown paper bag in front of her before turning to look at him and ask, "If you had more questions, it might be pleasant to discuss them over a more suitable… and definitively *edible* lunch… you don't happen to like Thai do you?"—

_The Lord is with Thee_

—Brennan, eying him curiously with a Thai lemonade to her right as she said, "Typically, when a male offers to use his resources to procure sustenance for a female, it signifies his desire to engage in a social contract with her." Booth smiling as he eventually replied, "And, if I were to ask you out on a date?" A pause. "Then, I would accept." —

_Blessed art Thou Among Women_

—In a booth at an Italian restaurant: "I don't know. I could call you—" Booth was about to suggest the nickname 'Bones' when he stopped himself and quickly substituted something else that shot into his brain randomly from out of the blue. "—Bren?" Making a face, Brennan asked, "'Bren'? As in a nickname?" Booth nodded. "Yeah," Booth said. "'Bren'. What'd you think?" Smiling, Brennan responded, "I think…I find your alternative proposal an acceptable compromise." —

_And blessed is the fruit of Thy womb Jesus_

—Saying goodnight to her for the very first time, at the front entrance to the Jeffersonian. Noticing that Booth had closed the distance so that only a foot or two separated them as he spoke, Brennan felt her heart begin to beat a little bit faster. She also came to realize that, just as Booth had apparently moved as he spoke, Brennan had apparently responded... because she quickly felt the firm and cold surface of the pillar's marble column against her back. Realizing that Booth had cornered her, Brennan looked up with a smile, and only stopped because she couldn't back away anymore. Booth, too, stopped, closing the space so that only a foot or two separated them. He watched her, his held tilted in interest as Brennan spoke. "I have quite a flexible schedule here at the lab. It's one of the main reasons I took the job six months ago. Did you have a specific time in mind?" Booth nodded. "Yeah, I do." Booth said, his voice a bit husky as he said, "How about tomorrow? Dinner?"—

_Holy Mary, Mother of God_

—Sitting at a bench on the Mall, near a favorite coffee cart that Booth liked to visit. Sighing again, Brennan said, "You have no idea how difficult what you're asking me to do is… what you basically want me to do is demonstrate faith—" Chuckling, Booth said, "Well, from a certain perspective, I guess you could call it that." A breeze in the late night autumn sky rippled through the sidewalk at the Mall where Booth and Brennan sat. Still frustrated, Brennan opened her mouth to contradict Booth's response again, when suddenly, Booth raised his hand to her face, leaned in, and gently pressed a kiss to her mouth. Clearly surprised, Brennan took a few seconds to swallow the verbal diatribe she had been about to unleash and allow herself to fall into the enjoyment offered by the warmth of Booth's kiss. She was just starting to respond when Booth pulled back, and smiled at her. "Better?" Biting her bottom lip, Brennan nodded, suddenly a bit shy as she softly replied, "Yes." Booth grinned again, this time, flashing Brennan the smile she was coming to love. "Good."—

_Pray for us sinners_

—At her apartment, on the couch, right after Brennan had thought Booth wasn't attracted to her. "Metaphorically speaking, yes," Brennan said. "So, now, clearing up any other potential misunderstandings due to communication errors, let's just make certain we understand each other." He nodded. "Okay," Booth said. "So, you're into me… that… way?" Brennan arched an eyebrow. "Sexually?" Brennan clarified. Booth blushed, but nodded. Brennan chuckled, and then said, "Yes, I am. And, do you... find me sexually attractive?" He nodded fervently. "God, yes," Booth said. "More than you'll ever know." Smiling, Brennan said, "All right," Brennan said. "So, now we've established the fact that we're both sexually attracted to one another. Based upon that fact, I would like to register my preference that we alter our actions so that things get a bit more… physical. And, by that, I mean, I would like you to stop kissing me as if I was your sister. I don't want any more physical attention from you if it can be described, in any way, as innocent or chaste." Chucking, Booth said, "That would imply what exactly?" Tilting her head at him, Brennan narrowed her gaze. "For starters?" Brennan asked. "The next time you kiss me, it better involve your tongue in my mouth or my tongue in your mouth and an exchange of bodily fluids, Booth." Booth laughed at her aggressive bluntness. "If this is the way that you squints come on to people, I think I like it, Bren."—

_Now _

—Entering the bedroom, *this* same bedroom, where Brennan sprinted into a run and launched herself in the direction of the bed, and at Booth, with a happy yelp. Tackling him, she smiled appreciatively when he grabbed her in his arms and fell backwards onto the bed before they made love for the very first time.—

_And at the hour of our deaths._

—Sitting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, Booth handing a photo of them two of them to Brennan as she tucked it into the copy of Jane Austen's _Persuasion_ that he'd bought for her before she pulled him into her arms and proceeded to kiss him in a way that made Booth feel more alive and whole and complete than he had ever felt before in his life.—

_Amen._

Somewhere in the front part of the apartment, Booth heard a shuffling of feet as people called out. Booth yelled out to guide them to the back bedroom, but his eyes never left Brennan's pale form.

"Oh, God, Bren. Please. Please… please, don't leave me. Please, tell me I'm not too late. Please. Don't leave me, Bren. Please don't go—"

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	25. Ch 24: Booth Changes Brennan's Future

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

A/N: I found it appropriate to be posting this chapter today since it's... taa duh... October 12th. Yes, my friends, it's the day Booth woke up back in 1998. How's that for timing a story chapter's release? Now, on with the show...~

* * *

><p>Chapter 24 – Booth Changes Brennan's Future<p>

* * *

><p>Through the crack of the windows that Booth had left open earlier that evening, so the pair could enjoy the refreshing fall weather while watching TV, Booth heard the wail of the muffled, but tell-tale sirens from the police cars, fire engines, and the ambulance that stood parked outside Brennan's building. The sirens shattered the stillness of the autumn night's crisp air, but, for some strange reason, they seemed to reassure Booth in their annoying constancy. Booth sat perched on a chair from the dining room table, unable to bring himself to sit on the couch where he and Brennan had made love just a few hours before. Glancing at the window, Booth saw the reflection of the red and blue lights blurred from several stories below. Combined with the wail of the sirens, and the fifty-pound anvil that had settled as a weight at the back of his head, to say that Booth had a bad headache was an understatement.<p>

The apartment was awash with a flurry of activity as EMTs worked to stabilize Brennan's condition before moving her from the bedroom. Booth had already given a preliminary statement to a pair of officers from the DC Metro PD, and so he sat alone, just watching and waiting. Eventually, a shuffling of feet and squeaking of wheels drew his attention in the direction of the bedroom. As soon as he saw the first indication of the gurney, Booth shot to his feet, and, as soon as he moved, Booth knew had done it too quickly. Booth struggled to keep from letting the impending nausea overwhelm him. When the EMTs pushed the stretcher past him, Booth watched with his vision transfixed on one single image - that of Brennan's pale and inert body. He vaguely heard one of the EMTs talk, as he continued to bark out sharp statements about Brennan's vitals, while a second one pushed the gurney forward and past him. Although he remained where he was, Booth felt a new wave of helplessness wash over him as Brennan slipped by, and they pulled her further and further from him with each step they took. Blinking away tears as he glimpsed her bruised and battered form - now seemingly quite small and frail against the backdrop of the bright orange restraints that secured Brennan's body as they moved her - Booth again started to mutter a random prayer to the Holy Mother for divine intervention.

_Please, don't take her away from me. Help her. Help us. Please, please save her. Please, Holy Mother, please-_

As the stretcher rolled out the front door, and the EMTs pushed it down the corridor, Booth's last image of Brennan was the sight of her pale face splotched in blood. Although the EMTs had cleaned some of it up in their efforts to stabilize her, the image of Brennan's bloodied face dominated Booth's recall. When she was finally gone, Booth suddenly felt as if the brave and strong front he had been putting up for her was no longer necessary, and he doubted he could have maintained it for much longer, anyway, as his vision started to swim.

Brennan.

Blood.

Brennan. Blood.

Brennan.

Blood.

_Blood. God, there was so much blood_, Booth thought. _Bren, oh God-_

Although Booth didn't realize he was still standing, he was suddenly grateful when a reassuring arm came up beside him and kept him from staggering to his knees as he started to go down. "Hey, buddy, you hanging in there?" the lone remaining EMT suddenly asked, supporting Booth as he slowly guided him back towards the chair. The EMT had noticed that Booth was in shock as soon as they arrived, and he had been the only one who talked Booth into letting the EMTs remove Brennan from his arms so that they could treat her. The man's warm brown eyes looked on in concern at Booth, much as they had while he triaged Booth's injuries when he noticed the man was also injured.

Grateful, in more ways then one, and still holding the icepack that the EMT had had given him to the base of his skull, Booth nodded slowly at the EMT's words. Trying to reassure him, Booth said, "Yeah, I'm okay."

Narrowing his eyes in uncertainty, the EMT said, "You sure? You, uh, look a little woozy there."

"I-I... I'm okay," Booth said. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a bitch of a headache-"

"And, just FYI, one that's probably going to get worse before it gets better. We won't know for certain until we get a CT done-" the EMT interrupted.

"Brennan first," Booth repeated. "You take care of her first, and then you can poke and prod me until you're hearts, content, huh?"

"A deal's a deal," the EMT said. "I think you know we're taking good care of your girlfriend. But, I need to know how you're doing before we go."

"Like I said, bad headache," Booth admitted.

"Which will be worse tomorrow," the EMT repeated. "But-"

"But," Booth took the hint and continued to speak. "As long as I don't move too quickly, the dizziness isn't too bad, and I think I can keep myself from tossing my cookies."

Pulling out his penlight, the EMT went up to Booth and checked his pupilary response again.

"Hey!" Booth protested. "That's not helping if you don't want me to throw up. Quite trying to blind me, would ya?"

"Just making sure I didn't miss anything," the EMT laughed, clicking off the light and putting it in his pocket. "So, you think you can handle riding in with us?" the EMT asked. "Like I said, I can't be taking you with us if you're going to puke in my ambulance-"

"I'm fine," Booth growled.

"Okay, then, if you're sure, we're just about ready to go here. Like I said we would, we've stabilized your girl, and we're ready to move out. If you think you can keep from tossing your cookies-" he gave Booth a pointed look as he tossed his own words back at him - "I thought you might want to ride in the ambulance with us?" the EMT asked.

Nodding gratefully once again - a small part of his mind wondering if maybe the help he had prayed to the Holy Mother for had arrived in the form of this person standing before him - even if such actions and thoughts actually did make his vision swim a bit again, Booth said with a serious smile, "Just try to keep me away."

The EMT, a young man Booth judged to be about his own age, similar to him in both height and coloring, chuckled. "Wouldn't even think to try it. Now, if you're ready, let's head out, huh? We don't want to keep your girl or the crew waiting, right?"

Booth felt a swirl of something, a slight shift in his mental perception of things, as he processed the man's words. _Weird_, Booth thought, as he looked at the man - a person whom Booth would've sworn seemed familiar to him for some reason, but simply couldn't place no matter how hard he tried. _Very weird_. Obviously the EMT in charge, Booth had noticed the tone of authority and gave the man another nod in respect of his position. However, at that movement, Booth did feel a bit of nausea start to overwhelm him as the dizziness increased again while he struggled to force his brain to make a connection that just wasn't happening. Eventually, he gave up, but repeated his earlier assessment. _Man, so weird-_

Keenly perceptive as he watched Booth take a shaky step towards the door, the EMT asked, "So, you think you can walk all the way to the front door without falling down, or do I need to carry you?" The EMT shook his head, a slight jovial lilt coming to his voice as he spoke - perhaps to mask the concern, Booth thought - he added with a saucy wink of his eye, "I mean, I know you've got that hot girlfriend and all, but if you're really faking the dizziness enough just so that I'll help you out because I know you think I'm so attractive, that's cool."

"Ummm, you know, as much as I appreciate the offer, since we're not dating, I think I'll walk if it's all the same to you," Booth replied, feeling the sarcastic jib come naturally as he exchanged banter with the EMT. Booth appreciated the man's attempt to distract him, as he also sensed serious concern masked by the EMT's light teasing in their bickering.

"Okay, then, if you're sure," the EMT said with a bit more sure nod as he watch Booth take a more deliberate step towards the apartment's front door.

"I am," Booth said. He took a couple more steps, felt the EMT move into line behind him - perhaps to catch him if he stumbled again, although Booth couldn't say for certain. Suddenly stopping, Booth felt a shout of mirthful glee in his brain as he turned to the EMT and said, "Besides, you aren't really my type. I'm not really all that much into brunettes."

"Nice try," the EMT replied. "But, you forget. I saw that hot girlfriend of yours, remember?"

"Yeah, well. She's a special exception. Always has been. Besides, she's not really that much of a brunette. I'd say she's got enough auburn in her hair that you could argue she's a red-head," Booth said, exaggerating each statement just to try to better the EMT in their impromptu war of words.

"Nah uh, not buying it," the EMT responded, giving Booth a piercing look of grave solemnity.

Booth held his gaze for a minute, and he then looked away with a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. Shaking his head, Booth knew when he was beaten., but still struggled not to lose. "Sorry, man," Booth snickered, no longer able to keep a straight face, but desperately trying to do so.

"Would it help if I told you I own several blonde wigs?" the EMT dead-panned, not missing a beat.

At this, Booth couldn't help himself as barked a sharp laugh and immediately felt a rush of pleasing and reassuring endorphins flood his system. "Hey, look at that, would ya? You made a joke. Not bad. That's not bad at all."

"I have been known to do that from time to time," the EMT chuckled himself, suddenly giving Booth a huge grin. He was glad that he had helped ease the tension Booth had been carrying with him, almost to the point of incapacitation, since they arrived. Nodding at the door, the EMT said with a small laugh, "So, whenever you're ready, buttercup, we can go."

Turning back to face the front door, Booth merely called his response over his shoulder as he began to walk. For some reason, and perhaps the EMT knew this, when Booth was concentrating on returning witty retorts, the dizziness and nausea weren't quite so bad. "Keep calling me buttercup, and you're gonna find out things about me that you really don't want to—" Booth volleyed back.

"Hmmm, now that sounds like an interesting offer," the EMT said, as they walked out the front door and into the hallway. As they made their way to the elevator, Booth pushed the button with his free hand, but still kept the icepack firmly pressed to the base of his skull as the EMT had instructed him to do earlier. The EMT was still watching him as they waited for the elevator. After a few seconds of silence, although the teasing in his voice was still present, he watched Booth with a critical eye and said quietly, "My name's Tim, by the way."

Looking at him with a firm nod, Booth smiled as he replied, "Booth."

"You're a funny guy, when you want to be, huh?" Tim the EMT asked.

"I can be," Booth admitted. "What about you?"

"Oh, I don't know. I've always kinda thought of myself as a lone wolf. know I'd be a gGreat person to be a straight man to, but I've never really found the right partner to pull it off with, you know?" he replied absentmindedly. The pair fell into another small silence as the elevator door opened with a distinctive ping. Stepping inside, this time, Tim the EMT pushed the button for the ground floor. Booth leaned back against the elevator's far wall. As they began to descend, Booth caught Tim's eyes and asked quietly, "So, ummm, Tim? You, ahh, you sure she's going to be okay?"

"Your girlfriend?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Booth nodded slowly, and he refrained from adding the immediate quip that sprang to his mind at Tim's words. _Girlfriend, lover, soulmate, best friend, and love of my life._

"She's stable for now," Tim the EMT said. "I'm not too worried about things since her vitals are strong. But-"

"But?" Booth asked, the hopeless feeling he felt at the man's qualifier creeping into his voice.

"But," Tim the EMT said with a crooked smile. "Let's not dilly-dally, huh? You know girls, they can keep us waiting all night, but if we're late five minutes, you're never going to hear the end of it when she wakes up," he told Booth.

"And, you, sure she's going to wake up?" Booth asked, glancing at the EMTs name tag and noticing it read 'Sullivan'.

"Sure," Tim Sullivan told him.

"And, you're not just saying that?" Booth asked, fear clearly evident on his face. "It's okay if you need to tell me that I... I might lose her. I'd rather know now, actually, so that I can prepare for the worst case scenario-"

Chuckling, but sympathetic, Tim Sullivan the EMT said, "Listen, I told you that already, and I wasn't just blowing wind up your skirt. I'm not 100% certain, but I do think your girl'll be fine."

"Really?"

"Yup," Sullivan nodded. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

"E-even with... with all that blood?" Booth asked quietly, hating himself for betraying some of his worry as he stumbled on getting even the first word out of his mouth. "God, there was just *so* much blood."

"Well, I know it looked pretty bad, but I've been doing this for a while now, and I'd like to think I'm pretty damn good at the job I do. Now, I can't say for 100% certain, but yeah, it's my personal and professional opinion that she'll be fine. I think she has some pretty bad concussions. But, the majority of the blood loss was from the gashes on her scalp. Lacerations to that area always bleed the worst. It looks really bad, but I promise, it looks worse than it actually is. We'll still need to do some x-rays to make certain there's no swelling to the brain, but once we stopped the bleeding, her vitals already started to stabilize by themselves. And, that's a good sign."

The elevator chose that moment to reach the bottom floor. The elevator doors opened with swoosh accompanied by a loud ding. Gesturing to the door, Sullivan said with a smile, "But, just to be on the safe side, let's get cracking, huh?"

Biting his lip again, Booth nodded. Before he moved to walk out the door, Booth smiled as he looked at the EMT. Extending his free hand, Booth grasped the EMT's firmly. "Thanks, Sullivan," Booth said, using the last man's name despite his earlier offer to let Booth call him 'Tim'. For some reason, using that name just didn't feel right, which is why Booth had gone with 'Sullivan' instead.

"Not a problem. But, do me one favor, huh?" the EMT said, as he made a slight face at what Booth thought might be his handshake.

"What's that?" Booth asked, releasing the EMT's hand before he exited the elevator.

"I don't really like it when people call me 'Sullivan'," the EMT said, following Booth out towards the ambulance. "It makes me think of my grandfather," he added.

"Okay," Booth agreed, immediately feeling sympathetic to men who didn't like their given names. "But, calling you 'Tim' just feels weird."

"Well, then, you can call me what the other guys do," the EMT said as they approached the ambulance. Gesturing where to sit, the EMT waited until Booth was seated and strapped it. He then confirmed with one of his other team members that Brennan was stable, before he took a moment to look back at Booth and added, "At least, you can if you want to."

"And, what's that?" Booth asked in true curiosity with the resumption of their prior conversation, as he felt the ambulance began to move after a couple of cops had firmly slammed the doors shut and secured them.

Meeting his gaze with another warm smile and reassuring nod, the EMT said, "Call me Sully."

* * *

><p>About an hour later, Booth sat on a gurney in the ER while a nurse continued to irrigate and tend to the gash at the back of Booth's head. He was just about to give thanks for the fact that the constant pounding in his head had finally starting to recede to the size of 10lb-bag of ice, as opposed to the earlier fifty pound anvil. Booth supposed this change was most likely due to some of the topical anesthetic the nurse had used to numb the part of his skin where he was going to have several stitches sat the back of his head where Stires had hit him with the hammer. Realizing how bad he must look, drenched in blood, both Brennan's and his own, Booth knew he probably looked a lot worse than he actually was when Hank and Janie Lutrell finally found him.<p>

"Booth!" Janie said, going pale at the sight of him. Hank hung back, surveying his best friend with a more critical eye than Janie, as he was more familiar than his wife in seeing Booth in such a state.

"I'm okay, Janie—" Booth began immediately. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"Oh, God, Booth. What happened?" she said, coming up to hug him. "What in the hell did you do to yourself? Are you okay?"

Moving one arm awkwardly to greet her, Booth gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before she pulled back. "It's kinda a long story," Booth said.

Raising his eyes to meet Hank's, Booth knew his best friend immediately knew what had happened.

"Ex-boyfriend?' Hank asked seriously.

Leveling his gaze at Hank, Booth nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"What happened?" Janie repeated.

Still looking at Hank, Booth said, "I, uh, was leaving Bren's to come home, and we think he was waiting for me in the hallway. He attacked me, and then he went after Bren."

"So, I assume I'm not going to be getting back the 9mm then anytime soon?" Hank said quietly.

"No," Booth said, knowing what Hank was really asking him. "And, the answer to your second question is 22."

Pursing his lips, Hank said, "You okay with that?"

"In this particular case?" Booth asked. Hank nodded. Booth, his lips pursed for a minute, slowly nodded. "Yeah, Hank, I am. I know I shouldn't be. But, I'm more than okay with it. More than. Because, well, he was trying to kill her, Hank-"

"It was justifiable homicide," Hank said. "You did what you had to do to protect her."

"Not that I did a very good job of it," Booth muttered sadly, the frustration he felt at both the situation and himself clearly evident in his voice and word choice.

Somewhat oblivious to the undercurrent of the exchange between her husband and his best friend, Janie, always the more practical one asked, "Where is she?" Questioning him, she added, "Is she okay?"

Wincing a bit, Booth said, "She's upstairs with a neurologist. He, uhh, well… the EMTs assured me, it's just routine since she's lost so much blood, and it's a head wound, but they were worried about the intracranial pressure. She seemed to be doing fine at the scene, vitals were weak but stable. They started to get a bit worried though, when Bren wasn't as responsive in the ambulance as they'd hoped."

"She's going to be fine, Booth," Janie said, immediately taking on the role of being the group's reassuring bastion of emotional support.

"God, I hope so," Booth said, not letting the small knot of fear that he'd had in the base of his stomach since he felt Brennan go limp in his arms grow in scope and intensity again as he'd fought over the past hour to defuse it at every chance. "After all, you've still got to meet her, right?"

Janie nodded with a firm, but reassuring smile. "Definitely."

Coming up to his side, Hank gave his friend a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder as he said, "She'll be okay, Booth."

"I know, Hank," Booth agreed. Suddenly, at that moment in time, Booth knew his words to be the truth. He laughed what he was sure may have sounded like an odd cackle of relief, but it was true. Somehow, in that moment, he knew, and because of it, Booth knew things were going to be okay. Looking up at his friend, Booth continued, "I know she will. That's why I'm not freaking out more. I have faith… I know… in my gut, we haven't gone through all we've gone through just for me to lose her now. The hard part… we did that already. Now, this stuff? This is the easy part. She's going to be fine."

"She will," Hank agreed again.

"She's going to be fine," he repeated, but then, almost as if he was whistling in the cemetery, Booth added softly, "She has to be—"

Swallowing the lump that had come into his throat, Booth tried to push away the negativity. His heart… that's what he was supposed to listen to right now, right? And, if his heart said Brennan would be okay, then she would be. It was just that simple.

* * *

><p>The first thing of which she became aware was the familiar comfort evoked, for the first time in her life, by a reassuring single word.<p>

"Hey—" a soft voice called out to Brennan.

At the time, Brennan would have sworn in a court of law, backing up her testimony with a signed affidavit, that the gentle greeting hadn't been screamed at less than a level of 165 decibels. Keeping in mind that the average human speaks at a level of approximately 120-125 decibels, the loudest scream possible, being on par with the sound of a gunshot at approximately 128 decibels, the fact that Brennan wanted to assess the monosyllabic greeting upon which she had been met in the level of a jet plane engine's roar, gave some indication as to how badly her brain was working at the minute. She winced at the sound, but, she was also torn. She knew that voice, and Brennan suddenly desperately, desperately needed to see with her own eyes the source of the words that had been spoken.

Not feeling more capable to dare to open one of her eyelids more than a millimeter, Brennan was somewhat surprised when a wash of painful light *didn't* flood her optical nerve. Feeling a bit more confident, Brennan gingerly opened the rest of the eye, noticing how crusty and unused to felt, and slowly the darkness of her surroundings came into a blurry focus.

Brennan immediately felt her body relax as the first image that made any sense to her was the sight of a very unkempt and dishevled Booth sitting next to her hospital bed. He looked…well, like a man who had been keeping vigil at someone's hospital bed probably always looked like. Booth had been clasping something in his hands when Brennan awoke, and it took her a moment to realize that he had been holding a set of dark blue rosary beads. It would be sometime later that she would come to understand that Booth had been holding them as he used them to pray the rosary to the Holy Mother because of her. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and Booth's skin looked unusually pale and translucent. His chin was heavily stubbled with several days worth of growth. Just at the base of his neck, when his head tilted slightly, Brennan thought she saw the hint of a sterile white cotton pad held in place with gauze. However, the smile that light up Booth's face when he met her eyes seemed to make all the other details just a little less worse then they seemed to be in accumulation. _God, how I love that smile_, Brennan thought randomly.

"You've got a great smile," Brennan rasped. "But, you need to shave, Booth," Brennan ventured, tentatively. Her voice sounded thick and rough and a bit strangled from lack of use. She swallowed once and then added. "You look too scruffy."

A small bark of laughter escaped him, and Booth's eyes started to fill with tears as he said, "Do you want me to shave now?"

"No," Brennan answered truthfully. "Want… water? Throat's dry."

Moving towards her, Booth nodded, "It's been a while since you used it, so makes sense."

"Can I have some?"

"Whatever you want, Bren. Just as soon as the doctor comes in," Booth said. "It's, uhh, been a while, like I said. We've been waiting for you."

"How long?"

Booth took a slow breath in and out before he said softly, "Four days, almost five."

Brennan winced. Five days? How was it possible that she had lost five days? "Date?" she managed at last.

"It's, ah… the night of November 4th," Booth told her. He reached for his pocket and pulled out a watch that he had apparently removed from his wrist at some point. Looking at the date, Booth nodded. "Yeah, November 4th."

"What time is it?" Brennan croaked.

"About," Booth glanced at his watch. "Ummm, about, 2:30am, I guess," Booth told her.

"You're still here?" Brennan asked, a bit surprised. "Why?"

"I promised," Booth said simply. Reaching forward, he pocketed the watch and rosary beads before he took her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers. "I couldn't leave you, Bren. I promised I wouldn't, so I haven't."

"You stayed?" Brennan questioned him.

Booth nodded. "I haven't left you for a single minute since they brought you here from the ER. I, well, uhh, I even came with you when they took you for tests and scans. I'm not even gonna say how pissy a few of the techs got, but I made friends with a couple of your nurses, so they let me do what I needed to to do watch over you, so that I could... so that I could protect you."

"You did," Brennan told him. "You protected me. Saved me," Brennan then suddenly corrected herself, a bit of fatigue coming into her voice. "You did, didn't you? Saved me? It was you, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Booth admitted, squeezing her hand. "Not like I had any choice in the matter, now, though, huh?"

Brennan was too weary to shoot him the appropriate look of rebuke. Instead she inquired, "Why was I out so long?" Closing her eyes a bit, Brennan asked, "Tell me what happened?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" Booth asked, his tone low and cautious.

"M-M-Michael—"

"Right," Booth said simply. "What else?"

"You had just left," Brennan said. She licked her lips a bit, still annoyed at how parched her throat felt. "And, I was getting ready for bed, I think. I remember... I was brushing my hair, and there was a noise. I thought it was you coming back, but it wasn't. It was... it was Michael—"

"He… he just snapped, Bren," Booth told her. "He ambushed me outside your apartment. Or, at least I think he did. I'm not really certain. I remember saying goodnight, and walking out the door, and then I remembered I had left Hank's gun on the table, and I wanted to go back to get it, but then, somehow... he must've seen me and hit me on the back of the head. The next thing I knew, I woke up on the roof of your building. I'm not sure, but maybe he planned to come back and finish me after he'd hurt you. Or, maybe he thought my head's a lot softer than most, 'cause you know I've got a pretty thick skull." Booth stopped, met Brennan's eyes as she opened them and smiled at him weakly. He nodded in approval. "At least, that's what Hank and Janie keep telling me. Huh? How about that? Having a thick skull was actually a good thing for me for one. He had a—"

"Hammer?" Brennan asked, her eyes snapping open as she cut Booth off. "He hit me, too, I think?"

"Yeah," Booth said, softly. "A tack hammer, among other things."

Brennan flinched. "He tried to surprise me. But, I thought it was you coming back because you had left Hank's gun on the coffee table. I was waiting for you. He caught me in the bedroom. I was sitting at my vanity, and he came up behind me. But, I heard him." She stopped, wincing in pain again as she recalled the thought. "Oh, God, Booth, if—" She stopped, suddenly tired, so tired. Yawning as she took a deep breath, Brennan forced herself to continue, needing to finish her thoughts. They were still a bit fuzzy, but the longer she was with Booth, the more she talked to him, the stronger she felt. "If I hadn't been waiting for you, thought you were trying to sneak up on me, he would have hit me at the base of my skull."

Booth nodded. "You moved just enough to deflect him. There was a struggle. Do you remember?"

"No—" Brennan breathed. "Just… oh, God, Booth…. Pain. He—" For a minute, the memory seemed to be too much for Brennan. "My head. It hurts," she finished lamely. "It really, *really* hurts."

"Bren, he... he still hit you with the hammer," Booth told her. "The first blow hit the back of your head. It grazed the occipital ridge."

At this, Brennan looked at him curiously. "And, how do you know that?"

"Because I made the doctor repeat it to me six times so I'd remember it so I could impress you when you woke up and asked," Booth smiled. "It work?"

"You mean if the whole saving my life thing hadn't already?" Brennan replied. "Oh, yeah, definitely. Consider me duly impressed, Booth. *Duly*."

"Excellent," he said, his smile getting bigger. He squeezed her hand again before his smile faded, and he whispered, "God, Bren, I was so scared."

"You saved me," Brennan said. "You… and Michael?"

"After he hit you the first time, it wasn't the exact blow he had planned. It was enough to knock you down, but not knock you out. He... he was standing over you when I found you both. He… hit you several times, Bren, but the worst part was… he slammed your head, your forehead, into the bed's foot board," Booth told her, grimacing as his eyes shut involuntarily as he recalled the sight. "God, Bren. There was blood… *so* much blood. And, you were unconscious and so small in my arms, Bren. So, so small. I, ah, oh God, Bren—"

She reached out her other hand using what energy she could to touch his fingers, wrapping her free hand around the one he was still clasping. Booth's eyes looked off into the corner as he seemed to be stuck in the memory of seeing Brennan just after she had been attacked. Feeling the need to pull him back to the present, back to her in the here and now, Brennan squeezed his hand as she spoke.. "Hey."

Booth looked up at her.

"I'm still here," she smiled. "Because of you, I'm still here."

"I know," Booth said, lifting their joined hands to his lips. In a move that delighted Brennan, as it remined her of their first date, Booth kissed her hand softly as he confessed his deepest fear. "I do know that, now, Bren. But, for a few pretty desperate minutes, I thought you weren't. I thought... I thought you were gone. And, I didn't know what I was going to do about that. I-I was so scared. I don't know what I'd do if you were... if you were gone. I don't know if I could handle it, and I thought... God, Bren. I thought I'd lost you."

"Never." She paused and then twitched her nose which made her wince. "Ugggh. Blunt force trauma to the temporal, parietal, or sphenoid bones," Brennan murmured. "Microfractures, I think, since my face doesn't feel like it's on fire when I move it."

"Well, you're on some pretty heavy duty pain meds, Bren," Booth admitted. "You've been in and out of consciousness for the last couple of days or so. The CT revealed some minor swelling to your brain. They've been waiting for it to go down, and that's why they kept you under for the first couple of days. Since then, the swelling on your face has also gone down, and while the bruising's already started to fade, it still looks pretty nasty."

"This you're way of telling me I'm not attractive any more, Booth?" Brennan teased lightly.

"God, no," Booth said. "You're still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Liar."

"About that? " Brennan nodded. Booth shook his head. "Nope. I'd never lie about how gorgeous you are," Booth said, bringing her hand to his mouth and kissing it gently. "Never."

Looking at him, and seeing the side of Booth's head as he leaned down to kiss her hand again, Brennan saw the back of his head clearly for the first time. "He hurt you, too, didn't he?"

"Tried," Booth admitted. "Like I said, he conked me on the back of the head when I left your apartment."

"Not very original, is he?" Brennan murmured. "How bad?"

"Not too bad," Booth told her. He then smiled sardonically as he said, "And, it's *was*, Brennan." Booth held her eyes as he corrected her again. "*Was*... not like it matters, much, though."

"No, it doesn't," Brennan agreed, concentrating on the last part of Booth's comment. "I could've told him how thick a skull you've got."

"Oh," Booth chuckled. "Miss Brennan made a funny."

She smiled weakly at him. Suddenly, her foggy brain catching up to her, Brennan frowned a bit as she said, "Was?"

His smile disappearing, Booth nodded. "He's dead, Bren."

"You killed him, didn't you?" Brennan questioned in a very soft voice.

Slowly, Booth nodded. "He was trying to kill you, Bren. I.. I didn't have a choice. I shot him—"

"It's okay," Brennan said, closing her eyes with a soft smile, again thinking how tired she was. "It's okay. I'm glad you did it. Glad you did."

"I had to," Booth told her softly. "I… he was trying to hurt you, kill you… and I couldn't let him do that. I had to protect you, keep you safe."

"You did," Brennan sighed. "And, I'm glad." She stopped and looked up at Booth. "What did the police say? You're not... you're not in trouble are you?"

Quickly shaking his head, Booth said, "No. It... it was pretty clear to them once they saw you, and saw me, the tack hammer... I'm not going to be charged. I talked with one of the federal prosecutors... her name was Jules, or Julius, I think... Julian, maybe? Anyway, she told me it seemd to be a pretty clear cut case of non-criminal homicide since I was defending you. The amount of blood alone was enough to justify my actions. So, no, I'm clear as far as that goes."

"Good," Brennan said, the approval clear in her voice. "I'm glad."

"You know," Booth said, thinking back on the interview. "Now that I think about it, that prosecutor? She was actually pretty funny. I think she may have been from Louisiana because she kept calling me _cher_."

"Booth?"

Turning to her, Booth inclined his head by way of an initial response. "Yeah, Bren?"

"Are you okay?" she asked softly.

Suddenly, as if he had just fallen a part like a house of cards crumpling in the wind, Booth's smile faded. A somber look replaced it as he shook his head. "I wasn't. For a while, afterwards? I couldn't… I couldn't lose you, Bren. I just couldn't," Booth told her. "And, I thought I might. Because there was blood, so much blood-"

Opening her eyes, still feeling very tired, she smiled. "You aren't. You won't. I'm still here."

"You have no idea how happy you saying those words makes me feel, Bren," Booth told her honestly.

"You know what you could do to make me really, really happy, Booth?" Brennan asked, suddenly smiling again.

"Anything you want, Bren. Just name it."

"Water? Ice chips? And, some spring rolls, maybe?" Brennan bargained.

Booth laughed. "Okay, why don't we start with the ice chips, and I'll see if I can go find out what's taking the doctor so long, huh?"

"Good plan," Brennan breathed. "I'll wait right here."

Standing, Booth reluctantly let go of her hand. Brushing an errant strand of hair away, Booth said, "You scared me, Bren. For a while… I thought… I though I'd lost you all over again."

"Never," Brennan smiled. "I already told you, Booth. Never happen. Never—"

Quite certain she wouldn't be making such universal absolute declarations but for her weakened and drug induced state, Booth couldn't help but feel a blossom of hope swell in his chest at her words. She was right. He'd protected her. He'd saved her. Brennan was alive, Stires was dead, and Booth was still there to see it.

It was November 4th, 1998, and Brennan was still *alive*.

He'd done it.

He'd protected her, he'd saved her.

He'd really done it.

The hard part was over. Now, now all he had to do was the simple things… like finding her doctor, water, ice chips, and a Chinese takeout place that would deliver at 2:30am in the morning. Yup, suddenly, things didn't seem so hopeless and impossible after all… but for the Chinese takeout part.

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	26. Ch 25: Brennan Changes Booth's Future

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

A/N: So, we're down the home stretch now, and the finish line is in sight. Mostly is just time to tie up some lose ends, answer a few questions, and finish painting the picture for everyone. Keep in mind, if there's something I've overlooked, or seem to have forgotten and not tied up, time is short to let me know what you think/remind me that there's something I still need to address. As ever, thanks to everyone for the great comments. I can't tell you all how much it tickles me when I read something akin to when people let me know they just found this story and read it in one go, or didn't think they'd be into a story like this, but turns out they are (either because it's AU or has a supernatural element, etc.) So, many thanks in advance. The feedback has been great... so, keep it coming!

* * *

><p>Chapter 25 – Brennan Changes Booth's Future<p>

* * *

><p>A month had passed since Booth had saved Temperance Brennan's life, having killed Dr. Michael Stires in the process. From the archway of their kitchen, Hank and Janie Lutrell watched as Booth lovingly gazed at Brennan while he handed her another of the Lutrell's ornaments to put on the Christmas tree. In twenty-four hours, Booth and Hank would report for duty, Booth's 14-day leave extension scheduled to end the next day. Due to Booth's head injury, combined with an unspecified administrative bureaucratic complication, both Hank and Booth's departure had been delayed until December 1st. As a way to enjoy what little time they had remaining to them in a festive way - since Hank and Booth would miss the remaining holidays - Hank and Janie had invited Brennan and Booth to join them in a day of decorating the house for Christmas. Most of the morning had been spent outside in an impromptu game of pulling out various boxes, testing light sets, making fun of the men when certain fuses blew, and the women running away from said taunted men when their tempers demanded they exact retribution in kind from those who would make fun of the manly art of exterior illumination.<p>

Now, later in the afternoon, or early evening, really, if they were to be honest, Hank and Janie held mugs of hot apple cider in their hands. Janie's cider was one of her specialties, and something Hank knew he would miss the most. She usually didn't make it until the week of Christmas because of the effort involved with pressing the apples and the time involved with infusing the cider with the right amount of spices and flavoring, but Hank had asked Janie as a special treat, and who was she to deny her husband such a small request? The cider had been brewing all day, and now that it was finally ready, the pair stood sipping the first mugs from the kitchen while they let Booth and Brennan have a bit of time to themselves. A certain rapport had developed between Booth and Brennan in the weeks since she'd been discharged from the hospital. For all intensive purposes, Booth had practically been living with Brennan at her apartment since she had been allowed to go home two weeks earlier. Through all of her subsequent check ups and physical therapy, Booth hadn't left Brennan's side for a single second. The strong bond that Hank and Janie first witnessed the morning Booth had called them to let the Lutrells know Brennan had come out of her coma almost a month before had only grown stronger with each day that passed. In many ways, it was a revelation to Hank, who had seen his best friend transform from a happy, but introverted, soldier who lived for his job with little else to look forward to into a man who seemed to be making some type of transition to a new stage in his life. It was intriguing to Hank who had also wondered, not for the first time in recent months, what his other options in life might be. While he loved the Army, and what he did, he and Janie weren't getting any younger, and he knew they both still wanted to start a family. Hank had been thinking for some time that he needed to look at his options after this most recent deployment and see what life after the Rangers might look like. Yes, perhaps Brennan's appearance in Booth's life wasn't a coincidence. Maybe fate really did have a plan for everyone involved. Maybe it *was* time to look to the future to see what type of change was best for everyone involved.

"She's good for him," Hank said at last, before lifting his Santa mug to his lips and sipping the warm cider slowly. "I mean, I knew she was special for the first time Booth ever mentioned her, but I don't think I've ever know how or why until these last few days. I've never seen him so... settled before... or so grounded."

Deeply inhaling the comforting smell of cinnamon and nutmeg, for the thousandth time, Hank pushed back a pang of regret that he would be spending Christmas away from Janie this year. He hated that, being away from home during the holidays. But, it couldn't be helped, and it wasn't like it was a sudden surprise. After all, the military had its own way of doing things and doing them in its own time. In many ways, Hank knew he should be grateful that things had turned out as they had thus far. He and Booth had already had more time with their families than initially expected in that the delay in their deployment, as the two-week leave extension had resutled in Hank and Booth being able to spend Thanksgiving at home in DC with their loved ones.

Jamie, also sipping the cider from her mug, slowly nodded in agreement with her husband's claim. "I've noticed the change in Booth, too. And, I *do* like her." She stopped, then looked at her husband. Hank smiled slightly as he realized Janie was hesitating about something.

"But?"

"But," Janie admitted, and Hank grinned as he knew he had been right. "I mean, she *is* young, Hank. So young in so many ways from what I've seen. But, on the other hand, Booth seems happier than I've ever seen him when he's with her, and I think we both know that's no easy thing for a woman to have achieved... not with a guy like Booth."

"I agree," Hank said. "But, then again, if Booth were going to choose a woman to make an honest man out of him, of course it would be a hot Pilgrim doctor like Brennan."

Janie immediately shot Hank a look of warning.

He frowned as he responded, "What?"

"Icks-nay on the ilgrim-pay stuff, huh?" Janie said. "I thought I told you to cut that out."

"Hey, I've been on my best behavior," Hank protested. "I haven't made fun of her name once."

"To her face," Janie sighed. "I suppose I should just be grateful that Your Nibs has acquiesed to calling her Brennan, huh?"

Hank made a face, and Janie made an appropriate one back. The pair chuckled, and then resumed watching Booth and Brennan. After a few more minutes, Hank asked quietly, "So, I'm right when I say we both think it could be serious between them?" He looked at Janie and waited for his wife to consider the question. Even though he already knew what Janie's answer would be - or, at least, he had a pretty good idea of what his wife's answer would be, Hank still felt a need to ask. They had been dancing around the topic for days now, but since his time was short, he felt a need to press Janie since her instincts on such things were so much better than Hank's own - which, as he liked to say, weren't too shabby by themselves anyway.

"I-I don't know," Janie finally admitted. "On one hand, they've only been dating a little over a month. But, on the other hand, everything they've been through, and I've seen how Booth cares for her. But, now that you guys have to leave, I… I-I just don't know. I mean, I'd like to hope, but it's just so soon—""

"He cares about her very much," Hank reiterated.

Janie nodded as she said, "I know that, Hank, but-"

"Nope, Janie. No 'buts' on this one," Hank interrupted his wife. "Believe me when I say I've seen Booth look at a lot of different women over the years, and I've never seen him look at a woman like he looks at her."

"And, how's that, my dear?" Janie said with a small teasing tone clearly evident in her voice.

However, being genuine in his assertion, intead of a smartass remark, Hank smiled at Janie as he pulled her into a tight embrace and whispered into her ear, "He looks at her like I know I look at you."

"Oh," Janie laughed. "Then, he's definitely in trouble."

"Yeah, he is," Hank said, placing a kiss on Janie's forehead before letting her go. "But... what about her?"

Janie considered the question for a few seconds before she finally admitted, "I don't know. I know she's dedicated to Booth, and I think she wants to make a go of things. But... I'm not quite sure."

"That's not like you, Janie," Hank said. "Usually you're dead to rights on stuff like this."

"I know," Janie admitted. "I think, maybe, I just don't know her well enough yet. So, the one thing I do know is that I think… I think while you two are gone, I'm going to make it a pet project to get to know Dr. Temperance Brennan a bit better," Janie replied thoughtfully.

"And, I think that's a great idea, Janie," Hank agreed. "I know it'll make Booth feel a lot better to know that she won't be alone and that he'll have someone here that he can trust to look out for her. I know that's been one thing that's been weighing on him over the past few days. And, it's probably good for Brennan, too. She may not even realize it, but having a friendly ear is gonna come in handy when we're gone."

"I know I wish I had someone to help me," Janie responded truthfully. "In one way, six months doesn't seem like a very long time. But, in another way, it might as well be six years that they have to be a part now that they've finally found each other."

"Yeah, six months is a long time," Hank said agreed. "And, if anyone knows that, it's you since you've been through it before, had to go through it before - and that wasn't even when we'd only been dating for a month. So, if anyone can help her, I have complete and utter faith in your Yoda-like skills, Janie."

"True," Janie conceded with a grin. "But, you've got to remember that things are still really different for her and Booth than what it was like for us. It's not like you kept me from being murdered by a crazy ex-stalking boyfriend of mine in the first month we went out, Hank. I've got to think that changes the game a bit for them. I'm just not sure how – for better, for worse, or in some other way we can't even imagine. The only thing I do feel comfortable in saying is that I know it's a *lot* to deal with for anyone woman."

"Touché, grasshopper," Hank said with a smile. He then shook his head in annoyance. "And, not that I have a man-crush on him or anything—"

"Of course, you don't dear," Janie deadpanned.

"But, if any type of guy is worth it… well, I think it's Booth. I don't know what else he could do to show her how much he cares about her. I mean, he's proven a lot to her about what she means to him, right? She's got to know since Booth's the type to go and do something like that – saving her life like that? Always making the rest of us normal guys look bad with the grand romantic gestures?" Hank stopped and considered his words as he suddenly looked to Janie. "Hell, if I'm impressed enough with what he did, and he's just my friend, I can only imagine what effect it has on you girls. Hell, I bet you're even ready to hit him over the head and drag him somewhere to have your way with him, right, Janie? I mean, even if I could, it's not like I could compete with him on that stuff, right? How am I supposed to top something like that?"

Squeezing his hand, Janie said, "Well, unless this is your way of telling me you want a divorce, I don't think you really have to, Hank. That's sorta one of the perks to locking me down with the band of gold, right, Mr. Insecurity?" Hank made another face at her, and Janie laughed. Realizing her husband needed a bit of reassurance, but unable to resist teasing him slightly, Janie continued, "And, Booth may make you look bad, my darling, but that's just how he is." Hank guffawed at this, and Janie grinned cheekily as she then added a bit of a balm to ease her husband's minor annoyance at his best friend's personality as compared to his own. "Besides, you've got one up on him anyway, Hank, in a way Booth could never top you… so I think it all evens out in the end."

"And, what's that?" Hank asked, the curiosity clearly evident in his voice.

Leaning in to kiss him again, Janie said, "While both you and Booth have deliciously dirty minds, you're the only one who knows how to verbalize what's in your head right now. Booth… well, he just doesn't trust himself enough at this point to let go like that in front of someone because he's never found someone special enough who he should love and trust like that."

Hank chuckled, as he mumbled, "See? I told Booth that the secret to why we've been happily married for six and a half years is because you love the fact that I can talk dirty... albeit, as the situation calls for it."

"Don't you know it," Janie said with a half-wink, half-leer. She turned back to look at Brennan. "But, maybe if he's lucky, maybe Booth will give you a run for your money in a couple of years. Maybe… maybe if he's found the right woman… who knows what can happen? Maybe all they need now is some time to make peace things."

"One can hope, Janie," Hank said, reaching into place a light kiss on her forehead. "One can certainly hope."

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, out in the Lutrell's family room, Booth handed Brennan another ornament hook as he said, "If I had any idea that Hank and Janie had this many damn ornaments, I wouldn't have agreed to have us put them all on by ourselves. I'm telling ya, Bren. We've been had. They got off easy setting up the tree and putting on the lights. Moreover, I think Hank knew that and that's why he didn't even protest when I claimed the garland, ornaments, and tinsel."<p>

Brennan smiled at him before she bent to place a delicate glass reindeer on one of the unadorned branches near the bottom of the tree. "Oh, I don't know. This isn't so bad, Booth. Plus, all their ornaments are beautiful. The ones that were Janie's before she and Hank got married, in particular, are really, really pretty. They sort of remind me of some of the one's my mom had when I was growing up."

"Even still," Booth grumbled. "This is taking a *lot* longer than I thought it would."

"So, what?" Brennan asked in mild curiosity. "You got some hot date you're going to be late for, Booth?"

Taking a step towards her, Booth pulled Brennan into an embrace as he placed his hands loosely on her hips. "Don't you know it."

Nodding at him, Brennan give him a peck on the cheek before she turned away to grab another ornament.

Suddenly, Booth sensed more than saw it happen, and so he was prepared as Brennan stumbled a bit and almost lost her footing. Coming up behind her to support Brennan from toppling over, Booth reached out and held her steady with an arm wrapped around her waist as he said, "Whoa, you okay there, Bren?"

Grasping his arm tightly, Brennan, looking a bit pale for a minute, squeezed her eyes shut as she said, "Uhh, yeah. Just give me a second, Booth. All of a sudden, the world is sort of spinning."

Taking several deep breaths to re-center her focus of gravity, Brennan clung to Booth in an unusual movement for several seconds. Booth held her tightly as he watched her, the concern clearly evident on his face. At last, she took one last slow breath and opened her eyes. Smiling, she said, "I'm okay."

"You sure?" Booth said, the worry clearly evident in his face. "You look a bit pale, Bren."

"I think I'm just a bit hungry, Booth," Brennan said. "We ate lunch hours ago, and it *is* almost dinner time."

"Really?" Booth pressed.

Brennan nodded. "Yes. I'm fine now. I just lost my equilibrium for a few seconds when I bent over to get the ornament. I'm okay now. I promise."

"Okay," Booth said. Glancing at his watch, Booth said, "Why don't we finish up here and then we can see what Hank and Janie want to do for dinner?"

"Sure," Brennan agreed. "And, once we eat, you guys should have plenty of time to get to bed early enough to obtain several hours of sleep."

"What?" Booth asked, suddenly frowning a bit. "What do you mean 'you guys'?"

"Ummm, sleep?" Brennan replied. "You want to get a good night's sleep for tomorrow, I presume."

Shaking his head, Booth looked at her with a look that was suddenly very familiar to Brennan. "I have no intentions of sleeping for a single minute tonight, Bren, if I can possibly help it," Booth said, his tone dropping a half-octave.

Recognizing the tone, hope blossomed in Brennan's chest. "So, does this mean you want to stay at my place tonight?" Brennan asked, a rare tenderness coming into her voice. "I wasn't sure what your plans were since we were spending today with Hank and Janie, and with you leaving tomorrow—"

"If you want me to?" Booth asked. "I know I have to get up early tomorrow to make it to the airport, but, yeah, I kinda wanted to spend my last night of freedom in your bed, unless you're not okay with that?"

"When can we leave?" Brennan replied, a devious smile coming onto her face to match the evil glint in her eyes.

* * *

><p>If there was one sight that was quickly becoming one of Brennan's most favorite things in the world, it was the face of Booth, relaxed and at ease in a way she only saw when they were in bed, after they had had sex, and right before he fell asleep. Noticing the drooping of his eye lid as he held her, Brennan murmured, "It's okay."<p>

"What's okay?" Booth said quietly.

"You don't have to worry about me," Brennan said. "I'm okay."

"I know that," Booth said. "I just don't want to go to sleep. I can sleep on the plane."

"You're exhausted, Booth," Brennan murmured. "Stop fighting it."

"No," Booth said. "If I fall asleep, that's wasting time that I don't want to waste. I almost lost you, Bren, and now I have to leave, and so every single second I get to stay with you… it's a gift, and I don't want to waste it."

"You're not," Brennan said. "Just… just promise me that if you do fall asleep, and if I do, that you'll wake me up before you leave? I want to come with you to the airport."

"You don't have to," Booth replied, shifting a bit in their bed. "You don't have to do that, Bren."

"I know I don't have to, Booth, but I want to—"

"I'd be perfectly happy to remember you just like this," Booth said, opening his eyes a bit, with a clear genuine tenderness shining through them.

"Like what?" Brennan laughed, moving a bit to lift her head from where it lay on his chest. "Sweaty and disheveled, with dark circles under my eyes and frizzy hair?"

"No," Booth said. "Flushed and beautiful… and most importantly, naked in bed... with *me*."

"Oh," Brennan responded with a nod. "I know what you mean."

"You do?"

"Yes," Brennan admitted. "This is your way of indicating that you'd like to retain the image of me in your mind's eye as naked and having displayed signs of sexual satisfaction given our recent coupling."

"Mmmm, I suppose so, but it sounds *much* better when I say it, Bren," Booth told her.

"I have to admit," Brennan said, shifting against him again, "that I'm uncertain if the current image you possess in your mind's eyes is a strong enough one with which to leave you, considering the fact that we won't see each other for six months after tomorrow."

Booth groaned. "Please, don't remind me."

"I'm just stating a fact, Booth," Brennan said gently. "I wish you didn't have to go—"

"But, I do," Booth muttered.

"Yes," Brennan agreed. "And, that's okay. I've made my peace with that fact, as much as I've been able to do so over the past few weeks. Granted, it's not something I'm happy about, but six months isn't that long a time. It's only 180 days, not even a full revolution of the Earth around the sun. Nothing will change between us, and when you get back, I'll still be here, and things won't be any different between us… and, we'll be able to pick up right where we left off. Besides, it's not like we won't talk in that time period, I assume? Email, handwritten letters via the US postal service, and, perhaps, even an occasional telephone call?"

At her ramble, which he recognized as a sign of Brennan's true nervousness, Booth reached out and began to run a hand up and down the soft skin of her naked back, tracing the delicate curvature of her spine. Brennan shivered a bit at his touch, closed her eyes, and smiled. Booth grinned in response, and said softly, "Bren?"

"Yes, Booth?"

"Of course, I'll call you. Promise—"

"Good."

"But, for now?"

"Yes?"

"How about we forget the fact that I have to leave in a few hours and just concentrate on us? I'd love to have a stronger mental image of you in a post-sex haze to take with me, huh?" Booth teased her.

"That sounds like the best idea you've had all night," Brennan said softly, almost half-moaning as he continued to stroke her back.

"Glad you think so," Booth said with a large grin coming onto his face. "Now, come here—"

* * *

><p>The next morning, sitting alone at her vanity, Brennan was in a decidedly more wound up mood than she had been in the late night hours she and Booth had spent making love.<p>

_This isn't a big deal_, Brennan thought to herself confidently. _Nope. Not a big deal at all._

In the past month and a half, she gone from essentially being a 22-year old virgin, alone, clinging to a toxic relationship with a man who never really cared about her beyond what she could do for his own wants and needs, who had been brutally assaulted and almost murdered by said crazy ex but for the intervention of Master Sergeant Seeley J. Booth of the US Army - and, well, who she was now was quite, quite different. And, because of said interaction with Booth in her life, Brennan was now, a 23-year old sexually active woman, with – despite the fact that a part of her twitched at the triteness of the nomenclature – a devoted and loyal and caring boyfriend who had saved her life and only wanted to make her happy.

As Brennan sat in her apartment's bedroom, the fruit of her morning's efforts shone clearly in the daylight streaming through her window. Yes, she was still unshowered and hastily dressed, her bed lay unmade, sheets wrinkled and rumpled from where she and Booth had spent the night making love. Brennan thought she could still see the faint impression from where Booth had spent most of the night on his side of the bed resting when they weren't making love. After he had left at dawn to return to the Lutrell's to shower, change, eat, and finish packing, Brennan had run out to the nearest drugstore. The fainting spell of the previous evening had gnawed at her for some time, and although she didn't think it possible, the timing *would* be right and explain several things. And, if by some chance her sneaking suspicions were correct, Brennan knew she needed to know now – sooner rather than later. She suddenly knew she would have to tell him, *had* to tell Booth before he left. Brennan couldn't explain why, but she felt it to be of the utmost importance and highest priority.

Now, the efforts of her morning tasks manifested for her assessment, Brennan stared at the eight small plastic white sticks that she had lined up in front of her on the top of her vanity. Four of the white plastic sticks reflected the '+' symbol at her while the other four white plastic stick read 'POSITIVE'.

"Two different manufacturers, four tests for each manufacturer, for eight positive tests in total," Brennan said to herself quietly. "The probability that all eight tests are incorrect is almost a statistical improbability."

Shaking her head, Brennan hesitated before lightly brushed a hand over her abdomen, still as taut and toned and firm as ever. "This isn't that big a deal," Brennan repeated, half to reassure herself, and half to reassure… her baby? "It's not. Really. After the month I've had, this is just par for the course. Honestly, it's not a big deal. It's okay. It's not a big deal. And, more importantly, now I know the answer to my question." She paused, looked at the bed and whispered softly, "God, Booth—"

Glancing at the clock on the table next to her bed, Brennan let out an foul epithet as she realized she was going to be late to meet Booth. Shaking her head, Brennan quickly grabbed one of the white plastic sticks from the top of her vanity and stuffed it in her pocket as she hurriedly ran out of her bedroom, grabbed her car keys from the entryway table, and plowed out her front door.

* * *

><p>Hank Lutrell stood next to Booth at the ticket counter, just in front of the point-of-no-return for individuals who possessed airplane tickets versus those who didn't. Booth, fidgeting, glanced at his watch again. Hank, watching his friend's nervousness, reached out and punched Booth lightly in the shoulder in a gesture of reassurance.<p>

"Don't worry, Booth," Hank said. "She said she'd be here, so she'll be here."

Booth nodded, and said, "I know. I just… maybe she's late because of traffic?"

"Could be," Hank agreed. "You know traffic on the beltway's a bitch this time of day."

"Maybe, but what if she's not coming—"

"Booth!"

His head snapping up at the voice that interrupted his nervous response to Hank, Booth's eyes light up, and he let out a deep sigh of relief as he saw a familiar form barreling towards him. Brennan threw herself into his arms, causing Booth to stumble back a step or two as he felt the strength of her embrace tighten around him. She continued to hug him for a minute, and Booth immediately knew *something* was wrong as soon as he realized she was holding onto him so tightly that he couldn't breath easily.

Coughing a bit, Booth said, "Uh, Bren. Can't breathe here."

Easing the tightness of her grip, Brennan clung to him as she whispered in his ear, "I'm so sorry I'm late. I lost track of time, and then I started to panic when I thought I wasn't going to make it in time. I'd thought I'd miss you, and that you'd left."

"Without saying goodbye to you?" Booth said with a shake of his head. "Naaw. Never."

"I'm so glad you're still here," Brennan said truthfully.

Realizing that something had changed in the short time since he had left Brennan earlier that morning, Booth asked, "Is something wrong? You okay, Bren?"

Pulling away from him at last, Brennan quickly struggled to regain her composure as she said, "Yes, of course. I'm sorry… the emotional outburst isn't the one with which I had planned to greet you."

"It's okay," Booth grinned, chalking her uncharacteristic behavior up to the fact of his impending departure. It warmed his heart to know that he could affect a woman like Brennan in such a way. Still smiling at her, he said, "You know, it's kinda cute."

"I'm not *cute*, Booth," Brennan said immediately, almost as if by reflex, a touch of her normal bravado coming into her voice.

"I know you don't like it when I call you cute, which is why I said your reaction was cute, Bren," Booth laughed, pleased that her automatic response mirrored the one he had heard in his mind as soon as he had made his own statement.

"Oh," Brennan said with a slight frown marring her face and deflating just a bit. "Well, that's all right then, I suppose. I still don't prefer the use of that adjective, but if you insist—"

Leaning forward, Booth kissed Brennan lightly on the lips, and, as usual, the slightly stunned look on her face made Booth feel like he was on top of the world. Shaking his head a bit, Booth said, "I don't think I'm going to ever get tired of doing that. It's never going to get old."

"I concur," Brennan said, a bit breathless.

"Good," Booth said. Reaching into his pocket, Booth then took out a sheet of paper and handed it to her. "Here… I wanted to give this to you before I left."

"What is it?" Brennan asked, taking the sheet of paper curiously as she quickly scanned the contents.

"I, ah… I wanted you to know that… well, just in case anything happens while I'm gone, I've… ah, I've named you as one of my emergency contacts, Bren. I've also listed you as joint having joint legal proxy for me with my grandfather. I know it seems a bit much, and it's really just to be safe rather than sorry… just in case anything happens, I wanted you to be in a position where'd they'd contact you and let you have some say in what's going on," Booth told her.

"You named me as your medical proxy?" Brennan asked, the disbelief clearly evident on her face. "As one of your emergency contacts?"

"Yeah," Booth said softly. "Is that okay? I mean, since technically you aren't family, they'd have no other way to know that you're important to me—"

"Since I'm your girlfriend?" Brennan laughed.

"I thought you didn't like that term," Booth said, a bit sheepishly. "I—"

"No, it's okay," Brennan said. "For this, it works."

Letting out a sigh of relief, Booth smiled. "Oh, okay. Great. Then… just so you know, it's just a standard procedure. Even Hank has to update it for Janie whenever he deploys, and they've been married for almost seven years."

Looking up at him, Brennan said, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes," Brennan said. "Booth?"

"Yeah, Bren?"

"I trust you… and if you tell me that this is just a standard procedure, that it'll never be necessary because you'll… while you'll over there, you won't—you won't do anything that will keep you from coming back in six months, then I'll believe you," Brennan said.

"I won't," Booth promised. "I swear, Bren… I'll be careful, and I *will* be coming back in six months."

"Good," Brennan said. "Because you know I don't deal well with things when people leave me, Booth. I… it's not—I just… please, just don't. While you're over there, even though I know it's a warzone, and I know what I'm about to ask you to do is going to be as alien a concept to you as the idea of me having faith in us, but please… please *don't* be a hero. For the next six months, just don't be you, okay?"

Grabbing her hand, Booths squeezed it tightly. "I *am* coming back, Bren. I'm not leaving you, and in six months, right here, I expect you to be waiting for me with that big bright smile of yours."

"Right," Brennan agreed. "I know. Six months from today. Right here."

"Promise?"

"Yes," Brennan said.

"Good, because… you have no idea how happy you've made me by saying what you did," Booth told her.

"Which part?" Brennan asked.

"The part about you having faith in us, Bren. I know how hard it is for you to believe in something like that, but it means everything to me… and, even though I know you can't say it back, there's one other thing I need to tell you before I go," Booth said.

Tilting her head at him, Brennan asked, "What?"

His gaze holding hers, Booth said softly, "I love you."

Brennan stared at him, and immediately Booth became concerned at the response her look denoted. Trying to mitigate any panic or negativity on Brennan's response, Booth quickly added, "I'm not saying it because I expect you to say it back, Bren. Hell, at this point, I know you probably don't even feel the same way about me as I do about you, but I love you. I do. I have from the very first time I ever saw your face. And, I… I-I needed to tell you that before I go. What we have… just knowing that you'll be here, and we can see where this thing between us is going when I get back, it's enough for me. It's *more* than enough. But, I wanted you to know how I feel—"

Suddenly, Brennan yanked her hand free of Booth's grasp, startling him. He felt a wave a wave of panic wash over him that was quickly ameliorated when he felt Brennan throw her arms around him again. Squeezing him tightly, Brennan whispered, "I can't say it back yet, Booth. I want to… I really, really want to… but, I can't. Not right, now, okay? I-I… and just because I'm not saying it now, it doesn't mean I don't care about you and…God, I care about you so much that it hurts, but…"

"Bren, it's okay—"

"No," Brennan said. Pulling away from him, she reached into the pocket of her jeans as she replied, "No, it's not okay. But, maybe... maybe, even if I can't tell you what you told me, maybe… maybe this will help? Maybe… until I can have some time to sort things out and to know how I feel and process everything that's happened, maybe this will help you to know that I'm serious when I say I'll be here, right here, waiting for you in six months."

Gently withdrawing the white plastic stick from her pocket, Brennan quickly grabbed Booth's hand, gently placed the item in his hand, and clasped his fingers over it. "Here… I can't say I love you, but maybe this is better, anyway. Showing is better than telling right? So, here's some evidence for you… a really good reason as to why you better keep your promise, Booth. You better come back. Please, please come home, Booth. You better not leave me—leave us, okay?"

Taking a step away, Brennan dropped her hands and let Booth look at the item she had placed in it. His eyes quickly darted over the item, the positive sign that stared back at him, and then at her.

"Bren?"

"Yes."

"No-"

"Yes," Brennan laughed again as she saw Booth's eyes light up in recognition. A smile began to wash over this face, and widen from a small, tentative smile to a dazzling grin, the grin Brennan had loved from the very first moment she had ever seen Booth.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. You okay with that?" Brennan asked, as Booth pulled her into his arms.

And, before his lips descended on hers in one final kiss of happiness, gratitude, excitement, anticipation, gratitude, hope, and farewell, Booth said, "More than you'll ever know."

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	27. Epi: What Their Efforts Wrought

Buried with the Bones

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Imagine if Booth and Brennan never met. The exhumation of a cold case introduces Booth to Dr. Temperance Brennan, but not quite in the way you think. If you believe in fate, somehow might they get a second chance? Very AU.

* * *

><p>Epilogue – What Their Efforts Wrought<p>

* * *

><p>"I feel as if I have swallowed an inflated sports ball that is metaphorically bouncing around the inside of my abdominal cavity and won't stop rattling around," Brennan said miserably.<p>

Sitting on Janie Lutrell's couch, her feet propped up on a pillow on the coffee table, her hands rested lightly around the bulge of her distended stomach. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, while Brennan had barely cared enough to pull her long hair into a messy pony tail that hung low at the back of her neck. Brennan had only messed with her hair by pure necessity, as the heat of the early July morning had already begun to stifle her, and it required her to secure it somehow to give her some relief. These days, as her pregnancy marched towards its evitable conclusion, Brennan was reluctant to move very much. In fact, Brennan had only left her apartment because she didn't want Janie to be by herself. In the seven months since the wife of Booth's best friend had worked so hard to befriend her, so much had changed for both women. Instead of meeting Booth, six months from the day as she had promised at the airport, Brennan had been faced with another promise to keep. Not quite ten weeks into their separation, both Janie and Brennan had received a call that no loved one wants to get while their family members are deployed. The very bad news was that both Hank and Booth had sustained critical injuries, due to an IED going off while they were on the ground on a mission in Kosovo. The very good news was that Booth was the one who had made the calls to both Brennan and Janie to inform them. While Booth's injuries would require some time to heal and recover in the best medical hospitals that the US Army had to offer, of the two, it was actually Hank who had been hurt the most. Janie had taken the news of Hank's injury several months before in a type of graceful shock.

While Brennan had not been able to support her much in the time before Janie had left DC for Ramstein Airbase in Germany, the place to which he had been transferred after the IED had injured her husband in Kosovo in March, it wasn't because of any lack of trying on her part. However, at four months into her unexpected and unplanned pregnancy with Booth's child, Brennan was in no fit state to travel. She had spent the majority of the weeks at the end of her first trimester, and the beginning of the second trimester, in a state of extreme dehydration. The morning sickness had hit her particularly hard, and for several weeks, there wasn't much of anything Brennan was physically capable of doing until it passed. While it hadn't been critical enough to necessitate her hospitalization, it did incapacitate Brennan to the point that she couldn't do much more than emotionally support her friend in-between alternate sessions of retching and dry heaving. Even still, Brennan had only ceased in her efforts to accompany Janie when a sharply worded telephone call from Booth reminded her that above all else, her health and the baby's health needed to be of paramount importance. He was fine, or would be fine, he told her vaguely, as he then gently made her promise that she wouldn't try to come to Germany.

Brennan had been passed out on her apartment couch the day she received that phone call, staring miserably at the ceiling, an empty suitcase dragged from the closet laying in front of her. It had taken all her energy and effort to merely retrieve the suitcase from her closet, and Brennan wasn't sure how she was going to actually accomplish the goals of packing and traveling to the airport once she felt the familiar first signs of a new wave of nausea wash over her. Knocked out by a particularly intense round of morning sickness, Brennan had haphazardly discarded the suitcase as soon as she felt the onset of the intense and uncontrollable desire to throw up was upon her. She also knew, by that point, there was nothing she could do to stop it. Her only choice was to let nature take its course, and such an inevitability frustrated Brennan more than she could actually convey to anyone. Her life had changed intensely since Booth's departure, the progression of her pregnancy changing her body, being only the most obvious of them.

The morning sickness had eventually resulted her taking a temporary medical leave from the Jeffersonian - a place where everyone had been flabbergasted when she announced that she was pregnant. However, Brennan had hired a promising intern, a young undergraduate from Michigan named Zack Addy, and he had kept her informed of the progress of their osteological investigations by both phone and email. She smiled slightly as she thought of Hodgins' terse response to her intern. It had been quite entertaining to see the entomologist react to the introduction of a new team member, but any amusement was quickly pushed aside by another wave of nausea.

The fetus seemed ambivalent about allowing her body to be pacified with any homeopathic remedy, ranging from saltines to herbal tea brewed from ginger root. She had eschewed some of the pharmaceutical options that her OB/GYN had offered her, with a fear of birth defects weighing heavily in her decision, as they were a fear that manifested themselves prominently in Brennan's overactive imagination. Instead, she had decided to deal with the issue using her mind and pure will power alone. On the day of Janie's departure, Brennan mentally cursed herself for thinking she could pull off such an incredible feat. And, it was on that day that Dr. Temperance Brennan finally learned one lesson she never believed she'd submit herself to believing in - humility. Simply put, the fetus had proved to her once and for all, there were certain situations where her superior intellect made no difference in the inevitable outcome of said situation. The pregnancy, a great equalizer, had shown Brennan that, beyond a shadow of a doubt, sometimes she couldn't make her body do what her brain wanted it to do just by sheer determination alone. Tired, dehydrated, frustrated, scared, and in a generally unhappy mood, it was in that mindset that Booth's unexpected telephone call had reached Brennan.

As they talked, once again, he felt horrible for not being able to be there for her, and Booth felt humbled for what she was putting herself through both for and because of him - both in what the pregnancy was doing to her body and what she was putting herself through in trying to accompany Janie to Germany. Ultimately, through the tear-wrecked sobs of Brennan's emotional side of the conversation - no doubt made worse by her fluxuating hormones - Booth had finally convinced Brennan that he would take care of Janie. All he asked of Brennan was that she take care of herself and the baby. Reluctantly, she had agreed, and after the phone call - perhaps as a providential sign, as Booth would say - for the first time in as long as she could remember, Brennan didn't want to throw up.

So, unfortunately, for her friend, Janie had to go to Germany herself to confront the possibility that her husband might not wake up from the coma into which he had fallen after the accident. But, fortunately, for her friend, when Janie did get to Germany, she wouldn't be alone. Booth would be there waiting for her. That fact brought Brennan calm reassurance on several levels. Booth and Brennan had talked several times in the aftermath of the explosion, and while he no doubt downplayed the extent of his own injuries, Brennan knew that if he was conscious and able to speak with her that he couldn't be injured *that* badly. And, so reluctantly, Brennan said goodbye to her friend when Janie stopped by Brennan's apartment en route to the airport. Perhaps because it offered her a welcome distraction, Janie had helped Brennan into bed before she returned her suitcase to the apartment closet and checked on her one last time before she gave her a hug goodbye.

Janie had returned from Ramstein two weeks later, alone, but with the welcome knowledge that Hank had awoken from his coma. It was a comfort to know her husband was alive and not suffering from brain damage, but the month of March hadn't ended without the Lutrells suffering one final bombshell – yes, Hank had woken up from his coma. But, once he had woken up, Hank couldn't feel his legs anymore. The surgeons and neurologists were uncertain if the paralysis was temporary or permanent. By the end of the month, Hank and Janie had been given what seemed to be a fairly common prognosis by the best surgeons and physicians in the employ of the US Army – baring a miracle, the paralysis seemed to be permanent.

In the months since Janie had reluctantly left her husband in the care of the US Army and returned to the States at the beginning of April, Hank remained at Ramstein in anticipation of being sent stateside to receive long-term care and physical therapy once his condition stabilized enough for him to travel. Although it was never made clear to either Janie or Brennan how such a thing occurred - or was even allowed for that matter - Booth remained by Hank's side the entire time.

Thus, April slowly melted away into the heat of May, and with the coming of the summer heat, Brennan's horrible morning sickness had also finally disappeared. Feeling the best she had in many months, as Memorial Day approached, Brennan was blooming with health. She had a typical pregnant glow about her when she finally returned to the lab to work for the last few weeks of her second trimester. And, while she kept in frequent contact with Booth by telephone and email - almost every other day at the very least - it soon became clear that Brennan would be able to keep her promise to meet Booth at the airport on the day she had promised because he wouldn't be there to be greeted in the first place. Slightly frustrated at her inability to figure out when he would be allowed to return home, eventually as her due date approached, Brennan kept a silent hope that maybe, just *maybe* he might be back in DC before she delivered the baby.

In the meantime, Brennan - her health now allowing her to reciprocate for the care and attention Janie had show her in the first few weeks after Hank and Booth had left in December - went through the experience that was quite common to many expectant mothers. And, Janie went through it with her in everything from going shopping for maternity wear and baby clothes, to painting the nursery a pale purple color when she reluctantly promised Booth that they would wait to find out the baby's sex, to going to Lamaze classes in preparation of the delivery. Janie was there for Brennan each step of the way - and then some. Acting as a surrogate for Booth, she was the one who often appeared at Brennan's door with the requisite bag of French fries (with extra salt), pints of chocolate fudge ice cream, or, perhaps most difficult of all for Brennan to deal with, copious slices of apple cinnamon pie from Booth's diner. Yes, Janie appeared dutifully each time when the pregnancy cravings started to drive Brennan insane, which, of course, was almost always in the middle of the night. Not unexpectedly, while she always greeted Janie with a grateful hug before her rapid consumption of such illicit foods, Brennan lamented the fact of what Booth's DNA had done to her. She promptly ascribed the unhealthy pregnancy cravings all to Booth's genetics, since *she* never had a desire to eat such unhealthy food choices in the course of her normal non-pregnancy diet. Such small rantings seemed to be the only time Janie would crack a small smile, and so the symbiotic relationship between them continued to grow.

By letting Janie help her, in a way Booth explained, Brennan was helping Janie. Keeping Janie company as they awaited the return of their loved ones, Brennan found, was a very small thing that she could do for the woman who had been an unexpected bastion of comfort and support in the weeks after Booth had deployed in December. It was because of Janie, Brennan knew, that she didn't have to go through one of most frightening and potentially overwhelming experiences in her life. And, so, time passed, and as Brennan began her third trimester, there still seemed to be no clear indication as to when Booth and Hank would return home, and still she and Janie took each day as it came.

Now, early on the morning of July 3rd, Brennan sat looking at her friend in what could only be described as more than a slightly cranky mood. Over the past three days, the baby's movements had intensified, and with that increase in movement, Brennan had rarely slept more than two or three hours at any one time. She had arrived in a taxi cab early that morning to meet Janie for breakfast, and had only stopped at the front door long enough to say good morning to Janie before Brennan trudged a very familiar path to the Lutrell's couch and collapsed into her favorite seat. It was, Janie had noticed when Brennan had first started to show a preference for the particular seat, the same one that Booth always favored when they watched a movie or some other activity that placed him on the couch for a significant period of time. Fairly certain that Brennan was unaware of the similarity, thus making her predilection an even more amusing coincidence, Janie merely smiled the sad smile that had adorned her face since her husband's accident as she reflected on the thought.

As she shut and locked the front door behind Brennan, Janie didn't even stop to question her very pregnant friend. Instead, she walked straight into the kitchen and returned a minute later. Looking at her friend with a sympathetic gaze, Janie handed her a wet cloth that she had retrieved. "Here, Bren. For your neck."

Flushed and already red with the stickiness of the summer morning upon her, a new misery had washed over Brennan as she continued to swell during the last few weeks of the third trimester. The humidity had made a bad situation worse. Brennan, already uncomfortable as she struggled with wanting to do so many things, but unable to do so in her final weeks of confinement, was quite overwhelmed with being pregnant by that point. She was tired of being pregnant, tired of the heat, tired of not having Booth there, and above all else, tired of being at the mercy of each and every physiological whim her body had because of the growing fetus inside her body.

Looking up at her friend, Brennan sighed a weak sigh of gratitude. "Thanks, Janie," Brennan said, taking the facecloth and lifting her pony tail to place the cool cloth as the base of her neck. Janie sat down on the far side of the couch and a comfortable silence fell over the pair as they just sat for a few minutes. Finally, Brennan broke the silence as she confessed to Janie, "I hate myself so much right now. Gestating is an extremely tiresome and tedious activity."

The only time Janie seemed to smile at all these days were on the few occasions when Brennan shared some random truism in a way that just amused her to no end. Brennan's latest comments elicited one of those rare smiles once more. Knowing her friend needed another pep talk, a happenstance that was becoming more and more frequent as she came closer and closer to delivering the baby, Janie smiled at Brennan reassuringly.

"Well," Janie said. "Think of it this way. Probability dictates that you only have a couple of weeks left before it's over. And, then, when you're done… gestating, you'll have a brand new baby to distract you."

"I'd give almost anything to see my feet right now," Brennan said wistfully. "Or, to be able to bend over. I know from an anatomical perspective that it's not true, but I feel like I lost my waist about two months ago."

"Since I've never been pregnant, I can only tell you what others have told me, Bren, but because you seem to be carrying all of your baby weight in the stomach, it's annoying while you're pregnant, but it's a good thing, too. A lot of the friends I've had who've carried their babies like that always seem to have a lot easier time bouncing back to the pre-pregnancy shape after the delivery," Janie told her. Her observation didn't seem to help as Brennan merely frowned at the words.

Eventaully, Brennan merely shook her head sadly. "I hate myself," Brennan moaned in depressed sadness again. "At this point, I don't care how illogical or how irrational it sounds, but I don't think this is ever going to end."

"It will," Janie laughed, unable to help herself when she saw how irrational her very logical and rational friend was behaving. "Remember, Bren. Whatever goes in, must come out."

Her eyes narrowing at Janie, Brennan suddenly scowled. "A self-propelling soccer ball did not go into me, Janie, and so I fail to see how it's going to come out of me eventually."

"The more the baby kicks, the healthier it is, remember?" Janie reminded her friend quietly. "That's what your OB/GYN, and all those books you bought, said, right?"

"From a medical standpoint, that is a factual statement," Brennan agreed. with a sigh "However, from the realistic point of view of one who's going through this, it's quite irksome, Janie. The baby just won't sit still. If I could see the interior tissue of my abdominal wall, I know it would be black and blue and swollen from excessive bruising. And, further, none of this is my fault."

"Oh?" Janie said, biting her lip, now knowing in which direction that the conversation was headed. In the last couple of weeks particularly, Brennan's increasing crankiness had been focused in one specific, and not too surprising, direction.

"Yes," Brennan said miserably. "I'm a relatively calm individual with a naturally sedate demeanor. I think we both know who contributed half of the baby's genetic material and has what might be accurately described as more than 'slightly excitable personality'."

Again, Janie bit back a smile. She was quiet for a minute, and then said, "You know, Bren, if it helps, you don't have to be so polite about it."

Her eyes narrowing, Brennan replied, "About what?"

Having come to realize long ago that subtle didn't work well with Brennan, Janie took the direct approach. "If cursing out Booth would make you feel better, please don't hold back on my account. I won't take it personally," Janie said honestly.

Sighing, Brennan shook her head. "Believe me, Janie. If I thought expending the energy that's required to castigate Booth verbally would be worth it, I would have no trouble unleashing a vitriolic storm on him. But, right now-" She stopped, looked off in the distance, and took a few seconds to collect her thoughts. When she spoke again, Brennan's voice was somewhat softer, her earlier crankiness now almost completely gone. "-until I know he's back home, here, safe… like he promised, I just... well, I just can't seriously censure him. Aside from the fact that most of my complaints are just the result of pregnancy hormones, I rarely mean any of the critical thoughts that I have about Booth. So, while your offer is kind, I just can't do it. I-I... I miss him. I want him here, and he's not. And, that makes me feel even worse... and I miss him so much."

Brennan's bottom lip began to quiver a bit as she finished making her impromptu confession, and Janie had to stop herself from getting up to give her friend a hug. A while ago, Janie had learned that such an action could actually make things worse for the forensic anthropologist, as Brennan didn't seem to be particularly found of displays of physical affection. So, Janie refrained from such efforts unless she deemed it an extraordinary situation. Knowing this not to be one of those times, Janie merely nodded a reassuring smile at Brennan before she spoke.

"I know, Bren," Janie said softly. "I know." Realizing that maudlin thoughts weren't necessarily the best thing to distract Brennan with, Janie asked, "So, what do we do now? You want to watch TV? I got those DVDs that you asked for... you know, the Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn movies?" Brennan made a face and she knew that wasn't a positive sign. "Okay, well then how about we go over your shopping list again? The nursery is in pretty good shape, but it can't hurt to go over the odds and ends again just to be on the safe side." Brennan considered the suggestion and then slowly nodded her agreement. Happy that they had reached a decision of how to spend the morning, Janie was only interrupted when suddenly Brennan gave Janie *the look*.

Looking up at her with a facial expression that Janie *knew* Brennan had learned from Booth in it's pathetic and manipulative effectiveness, Brennan suddenly ventured to make another small request. "Could I ask you to get me a glass of that lemonade you made last night? For some reason, the baby's not kicking quite as much as it has been right at this moment, but the cramping in my lower back is driving me crazy… metaphorically, of course. I'd get it myself, but with the muscle spasms, I don't really think I want to get up right now and move unless the house catches fire."

Her eyes narrowing suspiciously, her thoughts drifting back to a comment the OB/GYN had made to the pair of women the previous week, Janie said, "Lower back?"

Brennan nodded, completely oblivious to the change that had washed over her friend. "I think I slept on it the wrong way for the entire two hours I actually managed to fall asleep last night."

Shaking her head, Janie said, "Bren, did you forget what the doctor said last week? You're less than two weeks away from your due date. At this point, lower back pain can be an early indicator of the onset of the first stages of labor."

Tilting her head, Brennan considered Janie's observation. For a minute or two, Brennan processed Janie's words and then shook her head as she mouthed a foul expletive… another thing that Janie knew Booth had taught her. She then looked at Janie, wide-eyed and, at the very least, anxious, and, at the very worst... slightly fearful.

Standing up slowly, so as not to exacerbate her friend's emotional response, Janie said, "It's possible that it's just Braxton-Hicks, but, maybe, just to be on the safe side, I ought to call the doctor before I get you that lemonade, huh?"

Nodding, Brennan said, "I concur."

* * *

><p>Several hours later, Janie Lutrell stood in a hallway of the obstetrics unit of Georgetown Memorial Hospital. Several rooms down the hall, Brennan lay hooked up to several monitors as her earlier back pain had, in fact, turned out to be a sign of the initial stages of labor as Janie had originally thought. Since bringing her to the hospital, Janie had spent the last three hours going back and forth from riding out the concentrations with Brennan, to using the payphone to try to track down where Booth was. Janie wasn't 100% positive, but three days earlier, the last time she had spoken with Hank, he told his wife that they anticipated leaving Germany and returning to the States at any moment. Janie hadn't said anything to Brennan, lest she get the pregnant woman's hopes up needlessly. Booth also liked the idea of being able to surprise Brennan, and so had said nothing of the possibility of his impending return on his most recent call to her at about the same time Hank had spoken with Janie.<p>

Hank knew that neither one of them would be able to contact her until he landed and was transported to Walter Reed,. But, Hank promised he would call as soon as he could. Hank also hadn't been certain if Booth would be able to accompany him.

So, until Janie got a hold of her husband, she had no idea where Booth might be or how to tell him the news of his impending fatherhood. Going through the list of numbers of various contacts Janie had, she had spent a fair amount of time trying to figure out where her husband and his best friend currently could be.

Sighing in annoyance as she was transferred once again by a telephone operator to another extension, Janie almost screamed in delight when she finally heard a familiar gravel pick up the phone and answer "Hello, gorgeous-"

* * *

><p>Hank stared at the sight in front of him. He never would have bet it would actually happen to a guy like Seeley J. Booth. After all, snipers were supposed to be the most unshakeable, most patient, most calm of individuals. But, right now - and really, for the last fifty-two minutes, Hank thought, as he glanced at the wall clock - no one looking at Booth would think *he* ever had the temperament to be one of the US Army's most effective snipers.<p>

Realizing he couldn't take it anymore, Hank finally pleaded with his friend. "Booth, please. Stop," Hank said, at last.

Skidding to a sudden stop, Booth's head snapped up as he looked over at his friend and said, "What?"

"You're making me dizzy, man," Hank said. "Please? I know you're on pins and needles about finding out what's going on, but you're making me ill with motion sickness, and I'm the guy who can't even walk anymore."

"Sorry," Booth said, shaking his head apologetically. "I'm sorry, really. I just… I just can't help it. I'm here… and I should be there, with her… and this is- this is all my fault."

"She wasn't due for another two weeks, man," Hank pointed out. "We both thought you'd be cutting it close, but we did the best we could with things. How were we to know that she'd pop early?"

Shaking his head, Booth said miserably, "Even still. This is all my fault."

When his best friend unconsciously resumed pacing, this time, Hank didn't have the heart to chastise him again into stopping, even if Booth's back and forth motions really were making Hank want to throw up.

* * *

><p>In all of her life, Brennan had thought the most gratifying moment she had ever experienced occurred when she heard her name called out in the large arena where Northwestern University held their graduation ceremonies. As Brennan walked across the stage, she stopped in front of a smiling Dr. Al Gardner, who stood waiting for her, as he held a long satin hood with purple, white, and deep gold colorings in his hands. Then, Brennan had dignifiedly lowered her head so that he could drape the hood across her shoulders. After she was hooded, Brennan turned around and happily shook his hand. At the moment, beaming his excited smile at her, Dr. Gardner called her 'Dr. Brennan' for the very first time in her life, and Brennan had felt an explosive moment of fulfilling and exuberant joy that she imagined would never be able to be topped at any future point in her life. At 8:08pm EST on July 3rd, 1999, Brennan finally was able to admit that she had actually be wrong about her initial assumption.<p>

Sweaty, tired, aching in places she didn't even know existed - despite her extensive knowledge of human anatomy and physiology - at exactly 8:08pm EST, two of the greatest things Brennan could ever imagine happening in her life occurred almost at the exact same time. The two events, somewhat unceremoniously, had been preceded by Brennan working through one final, agonizing contraction. Annoyed and exhausted and frustrated with her OB/GYN's incessant, demanding perkiness, Brennan had given one last incredible push. Her efforts had resulted in a sensation that she could only describe as feeling as if something was half-slithering, half-tearing out of her. And, about thirty seconds after her brain was still struggling to process the strange sensation, Brennan heard two wonderful, wonderful sounds. First, she heard the sound of her baby's rattling voice taking its first piercing breath. The shallow intake of the baby's lungs greedily sucking in its first breath of air was mirrored by that of its mother giving a gut-wrenching sigh of relief, as Brennan heard the breath quick transition into a warbling, but piercing, shriek of a cry that brought an overwhelming warmth to fill her heart. Second, and more simplistically, Brennan heard the door to the OB suite fly open and someone call her name in a way that only one person - only one man - had ever said it.

Dressed in woodland green fatigues, Brennan's eyes locked with Booth's as soon as he had barreled into the delivery room. He was sweating profusely as he skidded to a halt in front of her bed, beads of sweat dripping off of his forehead. Brennan, giddy from a combination of surprise, relief, exhaustion, and blood loss, didn't know what to say as the OB/GYN ignored Booth's intrusion and attended to the still crying baby.

Booth's eyes flew back and forth to where Brennan lay in the bed, and the small table in the far corner, where the OB/GYN was assessing the baby. At last, sparing a glance at the intruder, but then nodding to Brennan, her doctor smiled through his mask and said, "I'm assuming since you aren't bellowing out violent recriminations that our newest arrival might be the father, Tempe?"

Brennan, her throat tightening in emotion as tears pooled at her eyes, could only nod her head in a short rapid series of movements that confirmed the doctor's question with an answer in the affirmative.

Looking up at Booth, the doctor said, "Okay, daddy. Better late than never. If you'd like to, you're just in time to cut your son's cord."

"Son?" Booth's head shot back from the doctor to Brennan. "It's a boy?"

Brennan shrugged, and said the first words she had uttered since Booth and the baby had arrived at the same moment. "Don't ask me. No one's told me anything yet!"

The OB/GYN watched the shell shock daze settle on Booth's face as he pulled off the mask, and then turned to Brennan with a sheepish look. "Sorry, Tempe. I forgot. It's a boy."

Brennan laughed a nervous chuckle as she hunched her shoulders in tired excitement. "Thanks."

Nodding at Booth, the doctor repeated, "So, do you want to cut your baby's umbilical cord, or what?"

Booth looked at Brennan, who shrugged again in response, and then he slowly nodded his head at the doctor. Walking towards the table, Booth took the surgical scissors proffered to him by the nurse. Watching the baby squirm and shriek, Booth was dumbstruck and could only manage a silent prayer to the Holy Mother to steady his hand as he cut the baby's umbilical cord. Handing the scissors back to the nurse, he looked at the doctor and said, "He's okay?"

Nodding, as the nurse moved to pick the baby up, the doctor smiled and said, "Two eyes, ten fingers, ten toes, the appropriate reproductive anatomy in the right place…so, yeah, even if he's a bit early, he's perfect. Now, if you want to go and keep Tempe company for a minute, we just need to check a couple of more quick things, and then we'll bring him over to you, all right?"

Booth nodded. Turning back, Booth walked over to Brennan's bed, and suddenly overwhelmed, pulled her into as tight a hug as he could manage given how she was situated. Tilting her head up to his, Brennan returned his kiss with a smile.

"You're here," Brennan murmured in obvious disbelief. "I don't know how, but you're here? You're really here? I'm not just hallucinating due to rapid blood loss, right?"

Booth nodded. "We got into DC about four hours ago. I had to wait for clearance to leave Walter Reed on a temporary medical leave pass. That's what took me so long and why I was late."

"So, you aren't AWOL?" Brennan asked, a small frown coming onto her face. "Please tell me you didn't go AWOL, Booth. I'm going to get very pissed off if a bunch of MPs come in here right before I have to deliver the baby's afterbirth and haul you off back to base."

Booth quickly shook his head, and grinned at her. "Nope, not AWOL. I swear. There are no MPs hot on my trail, I promise. I have a forty-eight pass right here in my pocket, signed, stamped, and sealed with all the appropriate authorizations in place that I can show you if you don't believe me. That's what took me so damn long after Janie called earlier. Getting the paperwork authorized took *forever*."

Reaching out to him, clasping his hand as her fingers intertwined with his, Brennan smiled as she said, "God, I'm glad to see you."

"Me, too," Booth said, as he reached out and kissed her again. "You have no idea."

About an hour later, Brennan sat in a fresh hospital gown. She had been cleaned up and was in a much improved state as compared to how she had been when Booth had first arrived. She had delivered the afterbirth fairly easily, and it had been disposed of quickly, leaving Brennan with time to spend recuperating and getting to know her new baby. In addition, now that she was able to eat and drink, Brennan's ravenous hunger kicked in, and Booth watched her with a curious eye.

"Booth?" Brennan asked, taking her spoon and licking it clean of the last of its chocolate pudding.

"Yeah, Bren?"

"I need you to do me a favor," Brennan said sweetly.

"What's that?" he asked warily, his intuition telling him that he was walking into a trap.

"Bring the baby over here, for a minute, would you please?" Brennan asked innocently.

Booth sat on the comfortable armchair that he had dragged next to Brennan's bed. The baby - bathed, fed, and changed - lay resting on his father's shoulder, drowsing quietly. Booth, arching an eyebrow suspiciously at Brennan, said, "What for?"

"Well, aside from the fact that I would like to hold my son, I would consider it a personal favor if you would go out into the nurse's station and find me another sandwich, some more chocolate pudding, and another two fruit punch juice cups," Brennan said, smacking her lips in anticipation.

Booth laughed in disbelief. "Seriously?"

A deadly look coming over her face, Brennan said in a very menacing voice, "I just spent the last 34 weeks gestating your offspring, Booth. I've lost at least a pint of blood during the delivery our son. I need sustenance to gain enough caloric intake to produce new red blood cells to replace the ones that were lost during that process. That, in English - or non-squint speak - means I'm starving. So, go get your cute ass out there, smile at the nurses that have been slobbering over you since you arrived, and go get me some more damn food." She stopped, smiled again prettily, and then added, "Please."

Biting back a laugh, Booth looked down at his dozing son, and observed dryly, "Boy, Mommy gets cranky when she's hungry, huh?"

"Please don't talk to the baby like that and pretend I'm not here, Booth," Brennan muttered, being annoyed at what she thought was Booth dismissing her demands. "I want more pudding, and if I don't get it right now, I'm going to be very, very bad."

"Oh, God, where did you get that one?" Booth laughed. Brennan stared at him, and he nodded knowingly, "Don't tell me... you learned that one from Janie, didn't you?" Brennan shot Booth another look, but he refused to be cowed. Eventually, though, gave in because he was just really teasing Brennan. Feigning reluctance, Booth slowly stood up and brought the baby over to Brennan. Handing the newborn to his mother, Booth chided her softly, "Careful, there now, Bren."

"What?" Brennan said, mildly offended. "I'm his mother. I know how to take care of him."

"I don't doubt that," Booth laughed. "I'm just afraid in your post-delivery attack of the munchies you might mistake the baby for a ham sandwich or something."

"Pudding, Booth," Brennan said, not finding his joke amusing in the slightest. "*Right* now."

Waving his hands in supplication, Booth winked at her and said, "I'm going, I'm going."

Leaving them alone, Brennan let the baby rest on her chest, amazed at how small and tiny he actually was. Shaking her head, Brennan said softly, "Please, how ever you turn out when you're older, please, please, please don't be a goofy jokester like your father. I don't think I can handle two Booth men cut from the same genetic bolt of material."

At this, the baby sleepily lifted his eyes at the sound of his mother's voice. The baby, whose eyes were a dark, dark brown - somewhat unusually, given the fact that most babies' eye colors didn't become pronounced until several days after birth, and, sometimes, not even then - seemed to mock her in response. Booth's eyes clearly stared back at Brennan, and she stifled a laugh as she said, "Oh, come on, not you, too."

The baby blinked once at her drowsily, and then let his eyelids fall again, as he dozed once more.

A short time later, Booth had adjusted himself on the edge of Brennan's bed, laying next to her on top of the blankets, staring at their sleeping baby. Brennan was much more docile than she had been earlier, as she was now replete, having gorged herself with three turkey sandwiches, two bags of Lays potato chips, four chocolate pudding cups, an orange popsicle, and four fruit punch juice cups. Initially, Booth had contemplated just ordering a pizza, or large order of Chinese takeout, for her since the meager offerings of the hospital hadn't seemed to be making any dent in Brennan's ravenous hunger. However, by the time her late dinner finally arrived, Brennan merely turned her nose up at the tray, apparently having finally reached a level of satiation. It had actually been Booth who was the one who ended up munching on the pasta, bun, and cup of tea that had come for her. Smiling at the thought, he lightly began to trace a small circle on the baby's back. Booth then glanced over at Brennan and shook his head in amazement.

"He's perfect, Bren," Booth said.

"While he's a bit underweight, given the fact that he was born twelve days early, I can't fault the sentiment behind your comment, Booth. He *is* perfect," Brennan said lovingly. She leaned down and placed a soft kiss on the baby's forehead. Wisps of auburn hair peaked out of the baby blue cap adorning his head than Brennan noticed with a wry smile. "He may have your eyes, but I think he has my hair color," Brennan mused.

"Ehh," Booth said. "He can't have too many advantages, you know, Bren. We don't want him to have a life that's too easy."

"Oh, really?" Brennan said, a bit of mocking exasperation coming into her voice. "And, how's that again?"

"Well," Booth began. "If he looked too much like me, physical god that I am, he'd have to start beating the girls off with a stick as soon as he leaves the hospital."

"Ahh," Brennan said, comprehension dawning. "So, this is another example of you exhibiting a claim of male superiority where you think you're excellent physique makes you a gift to all women who view your exceptional aesthetic attributes—"

Brennan was cut off as Booth turned his head and proceeded to stick his tongue in her mouth, effectively silencing her tirade.

Pulling back, Booth saw a rather dreamy look settle over Brennan's face at his actions. He chuckled at her response and repeated what was becoming his standard response after such an action, "God, I'm never going to get tired of doing that."

"Mmmmm," was all Brennan answered back. Tilting her head back up towards him in an unspoken command, Booth took Brennan's hint and leaned in to kiss her again. "I've missed you," she murmured when they finally drew a part. Despite her fatigue, and everything that had happened to her in the past twenty-four hours, aside from feeling gratitude for the safe arrival of their son, Brennan also felt a deep amount of thankfulness to whatever events that had resulted in Booth returning to her alive, whole, in one piece, and – more or less – in time to witness the arrival of their son's entrance in the world. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Hmmm," Booth said. Glancing down at their baby, Booth said quietly, "Isn't this about the point where I should be saying that to you?"

Shaking her head, Brennan said, "Nope."

"Why not?"

"Because, I'm not thanking you for making me a mother. I'm thanking you for keeping your promise," Brennan said simply.

"And, which one is that?" Booth asked.

"The one where I made you promise that you wouldn't be too much of a hero over there," Brennan told him. "The one where I made you promise that you'd come back for us… to us. And, and you did. You didn't leave me… us. And, for that, just… thank you. It means more to me than you'll ever know," Brennan told him with a raw and vulnerable honesty that made Booth's heart want to burst with happiness that she trusted him enough to let him see her in such a state.

"Yeah, well, I had a lot of time to think about things when I was over there." Booth paused and stopped to consider his words. Then, deciding that he at least wanted to mention it, Booth continued, "And, well, I, ah-"

Noticing his hesitation, Brennan prompted, "What is it, Booth? You know you can tell me anything."

Nodding, Booth held her gaze for a minute before he spoke again. "We don't have to talk about it now, Bren, but… my re-up comes due later this year, and I… I think I've decided that I don't want to stay in anymore," Booth told her.

Brennan considered his words and then tilted her head at him. "You want to leave the Rangers?"

Running his index finger across the soft fuzz of his son's hair that peaked out from the baby's cap, Booth looked from one miracle back to another as he lifted his gaze to meet Brennan's eyes. "Yeah, I do. I'm… I almost missed this… missed him getting here. But, for a happy accident of fate—"

"I don't believe in fate—"

"Well, I still do," Booth laughed. "Now, can I finish please?"

Brennan, sheepishly chastised, nodded. "Sorry."

"Okay," Booth said. "So, what I was thinking is that I might look into seeing if I might be able to qualify to apply to the FBI Academy."

Brennan thought about it for a minute, and then said, "Would doing something like that make you happy?"

"Being an agent?" Booth thought. His was silent for a minute and then he replied, "I've thought a lot about it for a while now. And, yeah, I think it would. I'd still get to use some of the same skills that make me good at what I do in the Rangers if I were with a federal agency like the FBI. Plus, the hours would be better, and I could stay in DC with you and the baby."

"So, this means you *want* to stay with me and the baby?" Brennan said carefully.

"Well, I know we really haven't had a chance to talk about it, but, yeah. Of course, I want to stay with you and with him…." Booth said, suddenly realizing that they had started to talk about a much more serious and much more personal issue. Wanting to reassure her, Booth added, "But, Bren, I'd want to stay with you even if he weren't here, at least, that is, if *you* want me to want to stay with you."

"Would it be a trite admission in my weakened emotional state to admit that I want you to stay with me so badly that it hurts?" Brennan asked. "I've being doing a lot of thinking since you've been gone too, Booth, and every time I think of you not being there, of me not getting a chance to see you again- I know it's irrational, and there's probably a psychosomatic explanation for it, but I hurt, Booth. I still get this physical ache just thinking about it."

Booth leaned in and softly kissed her again. "If you don't want me to, I'm not going anywhere, Bren."

"Good," Brennan said. "That'll make the late night feedings and diaper changing schedule a lot easier on me."

Almost as if the baby knew he was being talked about, he immediately started to cry that shrill and shallow wail that characterizes the new lungs of all newborn babies so small in size. Brennan immediately looked down at him in disbelief.

"You seriously can't be hungry already. The nurse said you're not supposed to be fed again for approximately ninety minutes," Brennan told her son rationally.

The baby ignored his mother's logical intonation, and merely mewled even more piteously at not being fed. Brennan frowned as she felt her breasts begin to leak in response to her son's cries. Almost as if he smelled the milk, the baby's cries began to get louder. Resigned to the fact that another Booth male would be setting her schedule for the next few months, Brennan sighed as she shifted in the bed to assume a position more conducive to nursing.

"He's going to suck any energy reserves I've managed to build up in the last few hours right out of me," Brennan lamented as she adjusted the baby's position to be more one that made it a bit more easy for him to latch on to her nipple and commence nursing. Within a few seconds, the baby immediately found his desired goal, and Brennan winced while her son stopped crying and began to suck greedily.

Booth watched in wonder, a frown marring his own face as he noticed her grimace. "Does it... does it hurt when he does that?"

"No," Brennan said truthfully. "He's not hurting me. It's- It's just… it's hard to explain. I… I'm just not used to it yet. It's not painful. It's a strange sensation, that's all."

"Oh, okay," Booth said. The pair were silent for a minute as the only sounds in the room were their breathing and the baby happily nursing. Eventually, Booth looked up and said, "Bren?"

"Hmmmm?"

"I know we haven't talked about this yet, either, but did you have any idea for names?" Booth asked.

Brennan thought for a minute and then shook her head. "No, not really. I… if it was a girl, I think I would've liked to name her after my mother, but I never really thought of any appropriate names for a boy. Why, do you have any?"

Caressing the back of his son's head again, Booth said, "I, ah… yeah, I do. I'd… it would mean a lot to me if we could maybe name him Parker?"

"Parker?"

Booth nodded, as he thought back to the dead friend and comrade that he had lost several years before in another deployment that he didn't like to think back on given how happy a day this was supposed to be for them all. "There's a reason why, and I'll tell you the story sometime, but it would... it would be a really big deal for me if we could choose that name for him?"

Testing the word on her lips, like an experiment, Brennan said, "Parker. Parker Booth."

"Booth?"

Brennan nodded as she looked up at him, surprise clearly evident on his face. "Of course. I mean, if you don't want to be listed on his birth certificate for some reason, that's fine. But, I had just assumed that you'd want to bestow your surname on your offspring, especially since the baby's a male—"

"I do," Booth said quickly. "I, just… I didn't know what you wanted, Bren. He's your son, too. I didn't want to just make blanket assumptions about him."

"You're not," Brennan said simply, feeling her need to reassure him this time. "I would tell you if you were."

Booth nodded. He was quiet for another few seconds before he said, "Bren? I know you said you wanted to name the baby after your mother if it was a girl, but for a middle name, how about we call him after your dad?"

"Matthew?" Brennan replied, uncertainty coming into her voice. "You don't have to do that, Booth."

"I know," Booth said. "But, I kind of want his name to have a special meaning for your family, too. And, I think Parker Matthew Booth sounds sorta spiffy, don't you?"

"It *is* somewhat of a lyrical name," Brennan agreed hesitantly, a smallness coming into her voice that Booth had noticed whenever the subject of her family had come up on occasion in the past when they'd been talking. "If... if you're sure?"

"I'm sure," Booth affirmed. "That is... if *you're* okay with it?"

"I'm okay with it, I think," Brennan said slowly. "But, are you sure you are? I mean, you never even met my father. And, Parker is *your* son, so—"

"See?" Booth said, grinning. "That rolled right off your tongue when you called the baby 'Parker', didn't it?"

Brennan blushed a bit, and said, "Yes."

"It's good, right?"

"Yes," Brennan agreed with a chuckle. "Yes, it is."

"And, Bren, I know that I never met your dad, but I like the idea of honoring him this way if for no other reason than the incredible woman he helped to create," Booth said. "So, yeah, if you're okay with it, so am I. I'm not doing it out of obligation, but because I want to... I really want to, okay?"

Slowly, Brennan nodded her head at him.

A smiling reaching his lips, Booth said, "Besides, I don't know why, but for some funny reason, I think if I ever had the chance to meet your dad, I think I would've like him. A lot."

"Personality-wise, you do have several alpha-male traits in common," Brennan agreed. She stopped and then said after a few seconds, "Booth?"

"Yes, Bren?"

"Do you really think I'm incredible?" Brennan asked, obvious insecurity again creeping into her voice.

And, right then, Booth vowed that he would spend every day of the rest of his life proving to this amazing woman how incredible, how *special* she really was. Leaning in, he kissed her cheek. "Incredible, amazing, fantastic, beautiful, smart, sexy, and a whole bunch of other amazing things that I can't think of right now that are everywhere in between, Bren."

Blushing a bit, Brennan nodded and said, "Booth-"

"Yeah, Bren?"

"You know, when you left that I told you I would tell you that I love you if I knew for certain that I did-"

"It's okay, Bren. You don't have to," Booth said, cutting her off. His tone softened as he said, "I know you will. One day, you'll say it when you're ready."

"I never thought I would be," Brennan confessed. "But, about five and a half hours ago, when I met this little person here, I had this swelling of emotion that I've never felt before in my life Booth. And, I know… it feels more than right when I say it. I… I love Parker. I do. With everything I have, with everything I am."

"For new moms, I think that's pretty normal, Bren," Booth laughed. "That's sorta how it's supposed to work."

"I know," Brennan said. "But, I also… because I know that about Parker, I know now how I feel about it... well, I know it feels right when I say it about his father, too."

His gaze leveling at hers, Booth said quietly, "Bren?"

"I love you," Brennan said simply. "I love you, Booth… and, if you want to… I think this thing might be going somewhere, and I'd like to see where it takes us."

Booth, feeling his heart swell at her words - the same words he had said to her at some point in the not too distant past - nodded. "You have no idea what you saying that, both of those things, what they mean to me, Bren."

"Well," Brennan said, adjusting the baby in her arms. He had stopped suckling, mostly, and seemed to be falling back asleep. "I figured I kind of owe you. You… you saved my life, you've made me a mother… you taught me to do something I never thought possible… how to believe in things like love and faith… and, so… it's a small thing for me to do, Booth."

"Never small, Bren," Booth laughed. "It's bigger… bigger than you, me, us, even him… bigger than you'll ever know."

A bit confused by his words, Brennan herself felt herself suddenly tire and chose not to argue the point as she felt Booth caress her cheek again in a soft kiss. Feeling more happy, peaceful, and right with the world than she ever had felt in her entire life, Brennan closed her eyes, just for a minute, and revealed in the rightness of the entire situation.

* * *

><p>And, somewhere, far away, two women with dark hair - one with dark brown eyes and one with bright blue eyes - looked down on the scene before them.<p>

"He's going to be a great looking kid," Sarah Booth told Christine Brennan.

"And, smart, too" Christine said, nodding in obvious agreement. "He's going to be hell on wheels when he's old enough."

"Well," Sarah agreed. "It's not like they don't deserve it. They need someone to keep them on their toes."

"They're going to have a great life together," Christine mused.

"Yes," Sarah agreed. She looked up and then nodded at her friend and grandson's other grandmother. "I think we did good, Christine."

"*Well*," Christine corrected her friend immediately in a tone of slight admonishment that was eerily reminiscent of Brennan. "Things taste 'good'. We did well."

"Whatever," Sarah laughed shaking her head.

But, slowly nodding her head, she said softly, "But, either way, yes, we certainly did."

Realizing that a grievous mistake had finally been corrected, things had finally been put right - perhaps even in a slightly improved manner than how they had turned out the first time - as they let a wave of emotional happiness overwhelm them, both women shared an approving nod and a secret smile.

Yes, all - finally - all was right once more. And, for that, they were both eternally grateful.

* * *

><p>~The End~<p>

* * *

><p>AN: Okay, so how's that for an ending? As my normal cadre of readers know, this is the point in time where I take a moment to thank everyone for their kind words, both in reviews and private messages, and let you know how much the feedback means to me.

When I started this story, it was with the idea that I wanted to see what Booth's life might've been like if he hadn't meant Brennan when he did. Let's face it, the Booth at the beginning of this story has some serious demons – for all intensive purposes, he's a gambler with a serious, serious problem that caused him to lose at least one relationship (Cam), lose his son (but for token visitations), stalled in his job (and who knows where he would have ended up but for Sully), and turned his back on his devotion to his religion but for the token Easter/Christmas ritual trips to mass. I also loved the idea of playing with a younger Brennan. Sure, she was always going to have the baggage inflicted on her because of when her parents and Russ abandoned her to the foster system, but I've always thought her collegiate experience was another crucial point in her development. I think, depending on the man she met at the time in which this story takes place, a turning point in her personality emerged. I've tried to insinuate that ,with the right person in her life, she might've become a bit more open and a little less cynical than the Brennan we met in the canonical pilot, who's many years older than the Bren of my story.

Also, the symmetry of canon's time line did inspire me a bit. I'm sorry for those who wanted Rebecca to be Parker's mom. But, hey, the way I see it is like this… if Booth had met Brennan first, I don't think Rebecca would've ever stood any chance. It was Booth's fate, I believe, always to have a son named Parker at the point in his life he did. I do like to think that the issue of who his mother was could be played with… and, so, yeah, that's how that went. I know a few people thought Brennan's initial response that might have resulted in their conception of Parker was a bit uncharacteristic, but I don't really think so. After all, she was a very young 22-year-old, a virgin, and had a naked Booth waiting in her bed to commence very pleasurable activities. I think you take any one of those facts, and it would be enough to knock Brennan off her game. Combine all three, and her rational brain never stood a chance. Now, I'm not going to say which encounter I think led to the baby - since it's not all that important anyway - but, it's a fun point I really enjoyed teasing out... particularly in tracing how their physical relationship changed Brennan even more, much to Hodgin's chagrin! I also know some people were confused about the issue of Booth and his memories… and I do hope the Sweets' sci-fi cameo helped a bit. The temporal paradox issue, as Booth said, can make any one's head hurt on the best of days. So, as I warned people, you do need just a teeny tiny suspension of disbelief to make things work, but hopefully, once you did that, the enjoyment of the story made up for it.

Before anyone asks, the answer to the next question I know people will probably want to ask is... will there be a sequel? Initially, if anyone had asked me this question a week ago, I would've feinitely said no - i.e., it's time to move on to some completely new and different. I really like where things have ended up here... but, now having been said, Sully kinda jumped into the EMT chapter, and reminded me how much I loved writing his and Booth's partnership in this story. A lot of people also asked how this future would be different with everything that's changed. Those are two questions I've been thinking about, and what I've decided is that, those are some interesting ideas to plan with. So, the bad news is that the official answer to the "is there a sequel question" is no, there won't be a direct sequel in the near future. BUT, the good news is that the new story will have some similarities in tone and feel to this story. The next story will a new adventure that builds on some of the elements inspired by the end of this tale. The idea of sending Sully the EMT and Booth the Ranger to the FBI Academy just really tickles me. So, in the more immediate future, for those interested, I'd like to briefly plug the next project I'm working on, which is entitled "Betrayed by Those Loved Best." The first chapter is already written and will be posted soon (i.e., over the weekend if there's enough interest here). As I said, the arc of the new story stems from the following plot bunny – what would happen if Booth and Sully ended up going to the FBI Academy and were pulled into an FBI investigation about a serial killer known as the Broken Promises Killer? Obviously, it's another AU story (not supernatural this time, though, I promise - and, I'll also add the promise of lots of B&B goodness to the original one I just made - the title doesn't refer to B&B angst, but the serial killer... for the most part), and I'm really, *really* excited about it. So, if you haven't done so already, don't be shy about hitting the Author Alert button so you know when the first chapter is posted or merely be on the look out for it. As I said, I hope some of the new readers who found me through this story might stick around and see what comes next.

As I said, the feedback to this story has been incredible, and really, *really* helps us individuals as writers. I have been asked in the past, why I require registration for individuals to leave feedback. Well, to be quite honest, fan fic readers represent a fickle beast. Although I can't stop irksome individuals, who are tedious in their desire to share snotty and random unintelligible comments, from posting something idiotic, making someone go through the process of signing their name to a review does seem to cut down on the useless flames that get tossed my way. Now, I think I've probably been spoiled by this story's amazing response when I only got a single review on a recent chapter I posted for another story. Normally, I don't like to be a review whore, but it *is* nice at least to know that people are reading and having some response. When there aren't any reviews, it's a bit apathetic, and you start to wonder if you're the only one who's reading something. So, again, I appreciate all the people who have let me know their thoughts, especially my repeat reviewers. I always value the constructive criticism, but... to the other idiots running around complaining - yeah, well, my question is, why are you still here? Really, go make your life and my life easier and read something else. "Buried with the Bones" has been one of the most fun stories that I've ever written. And, while each of my stories, like children, have a special place in my heart, I can't lie and not say that it's probably one of my personal all-time favorites. I hope everyone had as good a time seeing how things fell out as I did in seeing the story through to the end. Thanks for everything, and see you all (hopefully) on the flipside soon!~


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